OKEWOOD OF THE SECRET SERVICE

by

Valentine Williams

(pseud. Douglas Valentine)

CONTENTS

 I. THE DEPUTY TURN II. CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST III. MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND IV. MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE V. THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS VI. "NAME O'BARNEY" VII. NUR-EL-DIN VIII. THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE IX. METAMORPHOSIS X. D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED XI. CREDENTIALS XII. AT THE MILL HOUSE XIII. WHAT SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES REVEALED XIV. BARBARA TAKES A HAND XV. MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE XVI. THE STAR OF POLAND XVII. MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING XVIII. THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES XIX. THE UNINVITED GUEST XX. THE ODD MAN XXI. THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE XXII. WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED XXIII. MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR XXIV. THE TWO DESERTERS XXV. TO MRS. MALPLAQUET'S XXVI. THE MAN IN THE SUMMER HOUSE XXVII. THE RED LACQUER ROOM XXVIII. AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE XXIX. DOT AND DASH XXX. HOHENLINDEN TRENCH XXXI. THE 100, 000 POUND KIT

CHAPTER I. THE DEPUTY TURN

Mr. Arthur Mackwayte slipped noiselessly into the dining-room andtook his place at the table. He always moved quietly, a look ofgentle deprecation on his face as much as to say: "Really, youknow, I can't help being here: if you will just overlook me thistime, by and by you won't notice I'm there at all!" That was howhe went through life, a shy, retiring little man, quiet as amouse, gentle as a dove, modesty personified. 

That is, at least, how Mr. Arthur Mackwayte struck his friends inprivate life. Once a week, however, he fairly screamed at thepublic from the advertisement columns of "The Referee":"Mackwayte, in his Celebrated Kerbstone Sketches. Wit! Pathos!Tragedy!!! The Epitome of London Life. Universally Acclaimed asthe Greatest Portrayer of London Characters since the late Chas. Dickens. In Tremendous Demand for Public Dinners. The PopularFavorite. A Few Dates still Vacant. 23, Laleham Villas, SevenKings. 'Phone" and so on. 

But only professionally did Mr. Mackwayte thus blow his owntrumpet, and then in print alone. For the rest, he had nothinggreat about him but his heart. A long and bitter struggle forexistence had left no hardness in his smooth-shaven flexibleface, only wrinkles. His eyes were gray and keen and honest, hismouth as tender as a woman's. 

His daughter, Barbara, was already at table pouring out thetea--high tea is still an institution in music-hall circles. Mr. Mackwayte always gazed on this tall, handsome daughter of hiswith amazement as the great miracle of his life. He looked at hernow fondly and thought how.... How distinguished, yes, that wasthe word, she looked in the trim blue serge suit in which shewent daily to her work at the War Office. 

"Rations a bit slender to-night, daddy, " she said, handing him hiscup of tea, "only sardines and bread and butter and cheese. Ourmeatless day, eh?"

"It'll do very well for me, Barbara, my dear, " he answered in hisgentle voice, "there have been times when your old dad was gladenough to get a cup of tea and a bite of bread and butter for hissupper. And there's many a one worse off than we are today!"

"Any luck at the agent's, daddy?"

Mr. Mackwayte shook his head. 

"These revues are fair killing the trade, my dear, and that's afact. They don't want art to-day, only rag-time and legs and allthat. Our people are being cruelly hit by it and that's a fact. Why, who do you think I ran into at Harris' this morning? Why, Barney who used to work with the great Charles, you know, mydear. For years he drew his ten pound a week regular. Yet therehe was, looking for a job the same as the rest of us. Poorfellow, he was down on his luck!"

Barbara looked up quickly. 

"Daddy, you lent him money.... "

Mr. Mackwayte looped extremely uncomfortable. 

"Only a trifle, my dear, just a few shillings.... To take himover 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 gaveyou that ten shillings to buy yourself a bottle of whiskey. Youknow he won't pay you back. That Barney's a bad egg!"

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

"Now, daddy, you know I don't allow you to talk like that. Why, you are only just finished working.... The Samuel Circuit, too!"

Barbara looked up at the old man quickly. 

"Only, four weeks' trial, my dear.... They didn't want me, elsethey would have given me the full forty weeks. No, I expect I amgetting 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 forhim--"you've worked hard all your life and now it's my turn. Menhave had it all their own way before this war came along: nowwomen are going to have a look in. Presently' when I get to besupervisor of my section and they raise my pay again, you will beable to refuse all offers of work. You can go down to Harris witha big cigar in your mouth and patronize him, daddy... "

The telephone standing on the desk in the corner of the cheaplittle room tingled out sharply. Barbara rose and went across tothe desk. Mr. Mackwayte thought how singularly graceful shelooked as she stood, very slim, looking at him whimsically acrossthe dinner-table, the receiver in her hand. 

Then a strange thing happened. Barbara quickly put the receiverdown on the desk and clasped her hands together, her eyes openedwide in amazement. 

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

Mr. Mackwayte rose to his feet in agitation, a touch of colorcreeping 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... Theydon't go engaging people at this time of day... They've got otherthings to think of!"

He went over to the desk and picked up the receiver. 

"Mackwayte speaking!" he said, with a touch of stage majesty inhis voice. 

Instantly a voice broke in on the other end of the wire, aperfect torrent of words. 

"Mackwayte? Ah! I'm glad I caught you at home. Got your propsthere? Good. Hickie of Hickie and Flanagan broke his ankle duringtheir turn at the first house just now, and I want you to taketheir place at the second house. Your turn's at 9. 40: it's aquarter past eight now: I'll have a car for you at your place atten to nine sharp. Bring your band parts and lighting directionswith you... Don't forget! You get twenty minutes, on! Right!Goodbye!"

"The Palaceum want me to deputize for Hickie and Flanagan, mydear, " 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 neverhad an engagement like this before... The biggest hall inLondon... !!

"Only for a night, my dear"' said Mr. Mackwayte modestly. 

"But if they like you, daddy, if it goes down... What will yougive them, daddy?"

Mr. Mackwayte scratched his chin. 

"It's the biggest theatre in London"' he mused, "It'll have to bebroad effects... And they'll want something slap up modern, mydear, I'm thinking... "

"No, no, daddy" his daughter broke in vehemently "they want thebest. This is a London audience, remember, not a half-bakedprovincial house. This is London, Mac, not Wigan! And Londonerslove their London! You'll give 'em the old London horse busdriver, the sporting cabby, and I believe you'll have time tosqueeze in the hot potato man... "

"Well, like your poor dear mother, I expect you know what's thebest I've got" replied Mr. Mackwayte, "but it'll be a bit awkwardwith a strange dresser... I can't get hold of Potter at thistime, of night... And a stranger is sure to mix up my wigs andthings... "

"Why, daddy, I'm going with you to put out your things... "

"But a lady clerk in the War Office, Barbara... A Governmentofficial, as you might say... Go behind at a music-hall... Itdon't seem proper right, my dear!"

"Nonsense, Mac. Where Is your theatre? Come along. We'll have totry 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 eightalready! Who is on the bill with you?"

"My dear, I haven't an idea... I'm not very well up in the Londonprogrammes' I'm afraid... But it is sure to be a good programme. The Palaceum is the only house that's had the courage to breakaway from this rotten revue craze!"

Barbara was in the hall now, her arms plunged to the shoulder ina great basket trunk that smelt faintly of cocoa-butter. Rightand left she flung coats and hats and trousers and band parts, selecting with a sure eye the properties which Mr. Mackwaytewould require for the sketches he would play that evening. In themiddle of it all the throbbing of a car echoed down the quietroad outside. Then there came a ring at the front door. 

* * * * * *

At half-past nine that night, Barbara found herself standingbeside her father in the wings of the vast Palaceum stage. Justat her back was the little screened-off recess where Mr. Mackwayte was to make the quick changes that came in the courseof his turn. Here, since her arrival in the theatre, Barbara hadbeen busy laying out coats and hats and rigs and grease-paints onthe little table below the mirror with its two brilliant electricbulbs, whilst Mr. Mackwayte was in his dressing-room upstairschanging into his first costume. 

Now, old Mackwayte stood at her elbow in his rig-out as an oldLondon bus-driver in the identical, characteristic clothes whichhe had worn for this turn for the past 25 years. He was far tooold a hand to show any nervousness he might feel at the ordealbefore him. He was chatting in undertones in his gentle, confidential way to the stage manager. 

All around them was that curious preoccupied stillness hush ofthe power-house which makes the false world of the stage sosingularly unreal by contrast when watched from the back. Thehouse was packed from floor to ceiling, for the Palaceum's policyof breaking away from revue and going back to Mr. Mackwaytecalled "straight vaudeville" was triumphantly justifying itself. 

Standing in the wings, Barbara could almost feel the electriccurrent running between the audience and the comedian who, withthe quiet deliberation of the finished artist, was going throughhis business on the stage. As he made each of his carefullystudied points, he paused, confident of the vast rustle oflaughter swelling into a hurricane of applause which never failedto come from the towering tiers of humanity before him, stretching away into the roof where the limelights blazed andspluttered. Save for the low murmur of voices at her side, thesilence behind the scenes was absolute. No one was idle. Everyonewas at his post, his attention concentrated on that diminutivelittle figure in the ridiculous clothes which the spot-lightstracked about the stage. 

It was the high-water mark of modern music-hall development. Theperfect smoothness of the organization gave Barbara a greatfeeling of contentment for she knew how happy her father must be. Everyone had been so kind to him. "I shall feel a strangeramongst the top-liners of today, my dear, " he had said to her inthe car on their way to the hall. She had had no answer ready forshe had feared he spoke the truth. 

Yet everyone they had met had tried to show them that ArthurMackwayte was not forgotten. The stage-door keeper had known himin the days of the old Aquarium and welcomed him by name. Thecomedian who preceded Mr. Mackwayte and who was on the stage atthat moment had said, "Hullo, Mac! Come to give us young 'unssome tips?" And even now the stage manager was talking over olddays 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 pennyreading 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 outstaving them off! It's a pretty good show this week, though, andI've given you a good place, Mac... You're in front ofNur-el-Din!"

"Nur-el-Din?" repeated Mr. Mackwayte' "what is it, Fletcher? Aconjurer?"

"Good Lord' man' where have you been living?" replied Fletcher. "Nur-el-Din is the greatest vaudeville proposition since LottieCollins. Conjurer! That's what she is, too, by Jove! She's thenewest thing in Oriental dancers... Spaniard or something... Wonderful clothes, what there is of 'em... And jewelry... Waittill you see her!"

"Dear me"' said Mr. Mackwayte' "I'm afraid I'm a bit behind thetimes. Has she been appearing here long?"

"First appearance in London, old man' and she's made good fromthe word 'Go!' She's been in Paris and all over the Continent, and America, too, I believe, but she had to come to me to soar tothe top of the bill. I saw at once where she belonged! She's areal artiste, temperament, style and all that sort of thing and adamn good producer into the bargain! But the worst devil thatever escaped out of hell never had a wickeder temper! She and Ifight all the time! Not a show, but she doesn't keep the stagewaiting! But I won! I won't have her prima donna tricks in thistheatre and so I've told her! Hullo, Georgie's he's finishing... "

The great curtain switched down suddenly, drowning a cascade ofapplause, and a bundle of old clothes, twitching nerves, liquidperspiration and grease paint hopped off the stage into thecentre of the group. An electric bell trilled, the limelightsshut off, with a jerk that made the eyes ache, a back-clothsoared aloft and another glided down into its place, the comediantook two, three, four calls, then vanished into a horde of dimfigures 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, " thestage manager's voice went on evenly. "All right, Jackson! On yougo, Mac!"

Barbara felt her heart jump. Now for it, daddy!

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

CHAPTER II. CAPTAIN STRANGWISE ENTERTAINS A GUEST

It was the slack hour at the Nineveh Hotel. The last groups aboutthe tea-tables in the Palm Court had broken up, the Tziganeorchestra had stacked its instruments together on its littleplatform and gone home, and a gentle calm rested over the greathotel as the forerunner of the coming dinner storm. 

The pre-dinner hour is the uncomfortable hour of the modern hotelde luxe. The rooms seem uncomfortably hot, the evening paperpalls, it is too early to dress for dinner, so one sits yawningover the fire, longing for a fireside of one's own. At least thatis how it strikes one from the bachelor standpoint, and that ishow it appeared to affect a man who was sitting hunched up in abig arm-chair in the vestibule of the Ninevah Hotel on thiswinter afternoon. 

His posture spoke of utter boredom. He sprawled length in hischair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his, eyeshalf-closed, various editions of evening papers strewn about theground at his feet. He was a tall, well-groomed man, and hislithe, athletic figure looked very well in its neat uniform. 

A pretty little woman who sat at one of the writing desks in thevestibule glanced at him more once. He was the sort of man thatwomen look at with interest. He had a long, shrewd, narrow head, the hair dark and close-cropped, a big, bold, aquiline nose, anda firm masterful chin, dominated by a determined line of mouthemphasised by a thin line of moustache. He would have been veryhandsome but for his eyes, which, the woman decided as sheglanced at him, were set rather too close together. She thoughtshe would prefer him as he was now, with his eyes glittering inthe fire-light through their long lashes. 

But what was most apparent was the magnificent physical fitnessof the man. His was the frame of the pioneer, the man of theearth's open spaces and uncharted wilds. He looked as hard asnails, and the woman murmured to herself, as she went on with hernote, "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 thevestibule to the reception desk. An officer was standing there ina worn uniform, a very shabby kit-bag by his side, a dirty oldBurberry over his arm. 

"Okewood!" said the young man and touched the other on theshoulder, "isn't it Desmond Okewood? By Jove, I am glad to seeyou!"

The new-comer turned quickly. 

"Why, hullo, " he said, "if it isn't Maurice Strangwise! But, goodheavens, man, surely I saw your name in the casualty list... Missing, wasn't it?"

"Yep!" replied the other smiling, "that's so! It's a long storyand it'll keep! But tell me about yourself... This, " he kickedthe 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 himDesmond suddenly remembered, as one recalls a trifle, his trickof smiling. It was a frank enough smile but... Well, some peoplesmile too much. 

"Got in just now by the leave train, " answered Desmond. 

"How much leave have you got?" asked Strangwise. 

"Well, " said the other, "it's a funny thing, but I don't know!"

"Say, are they giving unlimited leave over there now?"

Desmond laughed. 

"Hardly, " he replied. "But the War Office just applied for me tocome over and here I am! What they want me for, whether it's toadvise the War Council or to act as Quartermaster to the JewishBattalion I can't tell you! I shan't know until tomorrow morning!In the meantime I'm going to forget the war for this evening!"

"What are you going to do to-night?" asked Strangwise. 

Desmond began to check off on his fingers. 

"Firstly, I'm going to fill the biggest bath in this hotel withhot water, get the biggest piece of Pears' soap in London, andjump in: Then, if my tailor hasn't betrayed me, I'm going to puton dress clothes, and whilst I am dressing summon Julien (if he'smaitre d'hotel here) to a conference, then I'm going to eat thebest dinner that this pub can provide. Then... "

Strangwise interrupted him. 

"The bath is on you, if you like, " he said, "but the dinner's onme and a show afterwards. I'm at a loose end, old man, and so areyou, so we'll hit up together! We'll dine in the restaurant here7. 30, and Julien shall come up to your room so this you can orderthe dinner. Is it a go?"

"Rather, " laughed Desmond, "I'll eat your dinner, Maurice, andyou shall tell me how you managed; to break out of the casualtylist into the Nineveh Hotel. But what do all these anxious-lookinggentry want?"

The two officers turned to confront a group of four men who weresurveying them closely. One of them, a fat, comfortable lookingparty 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 anotherfive years? Have you come to interview me?"

The tubby little man beamed and shook hands effusively. 

"Glad to see you looking so well, Major, " he said, "It's yourfriend we want... "

"What? Strangwise? Here, Maurice, come meet my friend TommySpencer of the "Daily Record, " whom I haven't seen since we wenton manoeuvres together down at Aldershot! Captain Strangwise, Tommy Spencer! Now, then, fire away; Spencer!"

Strangwise smiled and shook his head. 

"I'm very pleased to know your friend, Desmond, " he said, "but, you know, I can't talk! I had the strictest orders from the WarOffice... 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 oldMaurice been up to? Has he been cashiered for wearing shoes orwhat?"

Spencer's manner became a trifle formal. 

"Captain Strangwise has escaped from a prisoners' of war camp inGermany, Major, " he said, "we've been trying to get hold of himfor days! He's the talk of London!"

Desmond turned like a shot. 

"Maurice!" he cried, "'pon my soul, I'm going to have aninteresting evening... Why, of course, you are just the sort offellow to do a thing like that. But, Spencer, you know, it won'tdo... Fellows are never allowed to talk to the newspaper menabout matters of this kind. And if you're a good fellow, Spencer, you won't even say that you have seen Strangwise here... You'llonly get him into trouble!"

The little man looked rather rueful. 

"Oh, of course, Major, if you put it that way, " he said. 

"... And you'll use your influence to make those other fellowswith you drop it, will you, Spencer? And then come along to thebar and we'll haven a drink for old times' sake!"

Spencer seemed doubtful about the success of his representationsto his colleagues but he obediently trotted away. Apparently, hesucceeded in his mission for presently he joined the two officersalone in the American Bar. 

"I haven't seen Strangwise for six months, Spencer, " said Desmondover his second cocktail. "Seeing him reminds me how astonishingit is the way fellows drop apart in war. Old Maurice was attachedto the Brigade of which I am the Brigade Major as gunner officer, and we lived together for the best part of three months, wasn'tit, Maurice? Then he goes back to his battery and the next thingI hear of him is that he is missing. And then I'm damned if hedoesn't turn up here!"

Spencer cocked an eye at Strangwise over him Martini. 

"I'd like to hear your story, despite the restrictions, " he said. 

Strangwise looked a trifle embarrassed. 

"Maybe I'll tell you one day, " he replied in his quiet way, "though, honestly, there's precious little to tell... "

Desmond marked his confusion and respected him for it. He rushedin to the rescue. 

"Spencer, " he said abruptly, "what's worth seeing in London? Weare going to a show to-night. I want to be amused, mark you, notelevated!"

"Nur-el-Din at the Palaceum, " replied the reporter. 

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

"It's an extraordinarily artistic turn, " said Spencer, "andthey're doing wonderful business at the Palaceum. You'd better goand see the show soon, though, for they tell me the lady isleaving the programme. "

"No!" exclaimed Strangwise so suddenly that Desmond turned roundand stared at him. "I thought she was there for months yet... "

"They don't want her to go, " answered Spencer, "she's a perfectgold-mine to them but I gather the lady is difficult... In fact, to put it bluntly she's making such a damn nuisance of herselfwith her artistic temperament that they can't get on with her atall. "

"Do you know this lady of the artistic temperament, Maurice?"asked Desmond. 

Strangwise hesitated a moment. 

"I met her in Canada a few years ago, " he said slowly, "she was avery small star then. She's a very handsome and attractive girl, in spite of our friend's unfavorable verdict. There's somethingcuriously real about her dancing, too, that you don't find inthis sort of show as a rule!"

He stopped a moment, then added abruptly:

"We'll go along to the Palaceum to-night, if you like, Desmond, "and Desmond joyfully acquiesced. To one who has been living forweeks in an ill-ventilated pill-box on the Passchendaele Ridge, the lights and music and color of a music-hall seem as aforetaste of Paradise. 

And that was what Desmond Okewood thought as a few hours later hefound himself with Maurice Strangwise in the stalls of the vastPalaceum auditorium. In the unwonted luxury of evening clothes hefelt clean and comfortable, and the cigar he way smoking was theclimax of one of Julien's most esoteric efforts. 

The cards on either side of the proscenium opening bore thewords: "Deputy Turn. " On the stage wad a gnarled old man withruddy cheeks and a muffler a seedy top hat on his head, acoaching whip in his hand, the old horse bus-driver of London inhis habit as he had lived. The old fellow stood there and justtalked to the audience of a fine sporting class of men thatpetrol has driven from the streets, without exaggerated humor orpathos. Desmond, himself a born Cockney, at once fell under theactor's spell and found all memories of the front slipping awayfrom him as the old London street characters succeeded oneanother on the stage. Then the orchestra blared out, the curtaindescended, and the house broke into a great flutter of applause. 

Desmond, luxuriating in his comfortable stall puffed at his cigarand fell into a pleasant reverie. 

He was contrasting the ghastly nightmare of mud and horrors fromwhich he had only just emerged with the scene of elegance, ofcivilization; around him. 

Suddenly, his attention became riveted on the stage. Theatmosphere of the theatre had changed. Always quick at picking up"influences, " Desmond instantly sensed a new mood in the throngsaround him. A presence was in the theatre, an instinct-awakening, a material influence. The great audience was strangely hushed. The air was heavy with the tent of incense. The stringedinstruments and oboes in the orchestra were wandering intorhythmic dropped. 

Maurice touched his elbow. 

"There she is!" he said. 

Desmond felt inclined to shake him off roughly. The interruptionjarred on him. For he was looking at this strangely beautifulgirl with her skin showing very brown beneath a wonderful silvertiara-like headdress, and in the broad interstices of acloth-of-silver robe with short, stiffly wired-out skirt. She wasseated, an idol, on a glittering black throne, at her feet withtheir tapering dyed nails a fantastically attired throng ofworshipers. 

The idol stirred into life, the music of the orchestra died away. Then a tom-tom began to beat its nervous pulse-stirring throb, the strident notes of a reed-pipe joined in and the dancer, raised on her toes on the dais, began to sway languorously to andfro. And so she swayed and swayed with sinuously curving limbswhile the drums throbbed out faster with ever-shortening beats, with now and then a clash of brazen cymbals that was torture tooverwrought nerves. 

The dancer was the perfection of grace. Her figure was lithe andsupple as a boy's. There was a suggestion of fire and strengthand agility about her that made one think of a panther as shepostured there against a background of barbaric color. The graceof her movements, the exquisite blending of the colors on thestage, the skillful grouping of the throng of worshipers, made upa picture which held the audience spellbound and in silence untilthe curtain dropped. 

Desmond turned to find Strangwise standing up. 

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

"What, to see Nur-el-Din? By Jove, I'm coming, too!" promptlyexclaimed Desmond. 

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

"I'll be damned if you leave me behind, Maurice, " he laughed, "ofcourse I'm coming, too! She's the most delightful creature I'veever set eyes on!"

And so it ended by them going through the pass-door together. 

CHAPTER III. MR. MACKWAYTE MEETS AN OLD FRIEND

That night Nur-el-Din kept the stage waiting for five minutes. Itwas a climax of a long series of similar unpardonable crimes inthe music-hall code. The result was that Mr. Mackwayte, aftertaking four enthusiastic "curtains, " stepped off the stage into aperfect pandemonium. 

He found Fletcher, the stage manager, livid with rage, surroundedby the greater part of the large suite with which the dancertraveled. There was Madame's maid, a trim Frenchwoman, Madame'sbusiness manager, a fat, voluble Italian, Madame's secretary, anolive-skinned South American youth in an evening coat with velvetcollar, and Madame's principal male dancer in a scanty Egyptiandress with grotesquely painted face. They were all talking at thesame time, and at intervals Fletcher muttered hotly: "This timeshe leaves the bill or I walk out of the theatre!"

Then a clear voice cried:

"Me voila!" and a dainty apparition in an ermine wrap trippedinto the centre of the group, tapped the manager lightly on theshoulder and said:

"Allons! I am ready!"

Mr. Mackwayte's face creased its mask of paint into a thousandwrinkles. 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 wrapoff her with one hand and with the other, firmly propelled her onto the stage. She let him have his way with a merry smile, darkeyes 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 atalk, nest-ce pas?"

"A very old friend of mine, my dear, " Mr. Mackwayte said toBarbara when, dressed in his street clothes, he rejoined her inthe wings where she stood watching Nur-el-Din dancing. "She wasan acrobat in the Seven Duponts, a turn that earned big money inthe old days. It must be... Let's see... Getting on for twentyyears since I last set eyes on her. She was a pretty kid in thosedays! God bless my soul! Little Marcelle a big star! It's reallymost amazing!"

Directly she was off the stage, Nur-el-Din cams straight to Mr. Mackwayte, pushing aside her maid who was waiting with her wrap. 

"My friend, " she cooed in her pretty broken English, "I am soglad, so glad to see you. And this is your girl... Ah! she 'asyour eyes, Monsieur Arthur, your nice English gray eyes! Such abig girl... Ah! but she make me feel old!"

She laughed, a pretty gurgling laugh, throwing back her head sothat the diamond collar she was wearing heaved and flashed. 

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

Nur-el-Din's spacious dressing-room seemed to be full of peopleand flowers. All her little court was assembled amid a perfectbower of hot-house blooms and plants. Head and shoulders aboveeverybody else in the room towered the figure of an officer inuniform, with him another palpable Englishman in evening dress. 

Desmond Okewood thought he had never seen anything in his lifemore charming than the picture the dancer made as she came intothe room. Her wrap had fallen open and beneath the broad bars ofher cloth-of-silver dress her bosom yet rose and fell after theexertions of her dance. A jet black curl had strayed out frombeneath her lofty silver head-dress, and she thrust it back inits place with one little brown bejeweled hand whilst sheextended the other to Strangwise. 

"Tiens, mon capitaine!" she said. Desmond was watching herclosely, fascinated by her beauty, but noticed an unwilling, almost a hostile tone, in her voice. 

Strangwise was speaking in his deep voice. 

"Marcelle, " he said, "I've brought a friend who is anxious tomeet you. Major Desmond Okewood! He and I soldiered together inFrance!" The dancer turned her big black eyes full on Desmond asshe held out her hand to him. 

"Old friends, new friends, " she cried, clapping, her hands like achild, "I love friends. Captaine, here is a very old friend, " shesaid to Strangwise as Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara came into therooms, "Monsieur Arthur Mackwayte and 'is daughter. I 'ave knowMonsieur Arthur almos' all my life. And, Mademoiselle, permit me?I introduce le Captaine Strangwise and 'is friend... What is thename? Ah, Major Okewood!"

Nur-el-Din sank into a bergere chair beside her great mirror. 

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

As Madame's entourage surged out, Strangwise said:

"I hear you are leaving the Palaceum, Marcelle!"

He spoke so low that Mr. Mackwayte and Barbara, who were talkingto Desmond, did not hear. Marcelle, taking off her heavyhead-dress, answered quickly:

"Who told you that?"

"Never mind, " replied Strangwise. "But you never told me you weregoing. Why didn't you?"

His voice was stern and hard now, very different from his usualquiet and mellow tones. But he was smiling. 

Marcelle cast a glance over her shoulder. Barbara was lookinground the room and caught the reflection of the dancer's face ina mirror hanging on the wall. To her intense astonishment, shesaw a look of despair, almost of terror, in Nur-el-Din's darkeyes. It was like the frightened stare of some hunted beast. Barbara was so much taken aback that she instinctively glancedover her shoulder at the door, thinking that the dancer had seensomething there to frighten her. But the door was shut. WhenBarbara looked into the mirror again, she saw only the reflectionof Nur-el-Din's pretty neck and shoulders. The dancer was talkingagain in low tones to Strangwise. 

But Barbara swiftly forgot that glimpse of the dancer's face inthe glass. For she was very happy. Happiness, like high spirits, is eminently contagious, and the two men at her side weresupremely content. 

Her father's eyes were shining with his little success fit, ofthe evening: on the way upstairs Fletcher had held out hopes tohim of a long engagement at the Palaceum while as for the other, he was radiant with the excitement of his first night in townafter long months of campaigning. 

He was thinking that his leave had started most propitiously. After a man has been isolated for months amongst muddymasculinity, the homeliest woman will find favor in his eyes. Andto neither of these women, in whose presence he so unexpectedfound himself within a few hours of landing in England, could theepithet "homely" be applied. Each represented a distinct type ofbeauty in herself, and Desmond, as he chatted with Barbara, wasmentally contrasting the two women. Barbara, tall and slim andvery healthy, with her braided brown hair, creamy complexion andgray eyes, was essentially English. She was the typical woman ofEngland, of England of the broad green valleys and rolling downsand snuggling hamlets, of England of the white cliffs gnawed bythe restless ocean, The other was equally essentially a woman ofthe South. Her dark eyes, her upper lip just baring her firmwhite teeth, spoke of hot Latin or gypsy blood surging in herveins. Hers was the beauty of the East, sensuous, arresting, conjuring up pictures of warm, perfumed nights, the thrumming ofguitars, 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? Yourpapa and these gentlemen are going to drink a whiskey-soda withthat animal Fletcher... Quel homme terrible... And you shall jointhem presently. "

The men went out, leaving Barbara alone with the dancer. Barbaranoticed how tired Nur-el-Din was looking. Heir pretty, childishways seemed to have evaporated with her high spirits. Her facewas heavy and listless. There were lines round heir eyes, and hermouth had a hard, drawn look. 

"Child, " she said, "give me, please, my peignoir... It is behindthe door, ... And, I will get this paint off my face!"

Barbara fetched the wrapper and sat down beside the dancer. ButNur-el-Din did not move. She seemed to be thinking. Barbara sawthe hunted look she had already observed in her that eveningcreeping over her face again. 

"It is a hard life; this life of ours, a life of change, mapetite! A great artiste has no country, no home, no fireside! Forthe past five years I have been roaming about the world! Often Ithink I will settle down, but the life holds me!"

She took up from her dressing-table a little oblong plain silverbox. 

"I want to ask you a favor, ma petite Barbara!" she said. "Thislittle box is a family possession of mine: I have had it for manyyears. The world is so disturbed to-day that life is not safe foranybody who travels as much as I do! You have a home, a safe homewith your dear father! He was telling me about it! Will you takethis little box and keep it safely for me until... Until... Thewar is over... Until I ask you for it?"

"Yes, of course, " said Barbara, "if you wish it, though, whatwith these air raids, I don't know that London is particularlysafe, either. "

"Ah! that is good of you, " cried Nur-el-Din, "anyhow, the littlebox is safer with you than with me. See, I will wrap it up andseal it, and then you will take it home with you, n'est-ce pas?"

She opened a drawer and swiftly hunting among its contentsproduced a sheet, of white paper, and some sealing-wax. Shewrapped the box in the paper and sealed it up, stamping the sealswith a camel signet ring she drew off her finger. Then she handedthe package to Barbara. 

There was a knock at the door. The maid, noiselessly arrangingMadame's dresses in the corner opened it. 

"You will take care of it well for me, " the dancer said toBarbara, and her voice vibrated with a surprising eagerness, "youwill guard it preciously until I come for it... " She laughed andadded carelessly: "Because it is a family treasure, a lifemascotte of mine, hein?"

Then they heard Strangwise's deep voice outside. 

Nur-el-Din started. 

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

The dancer thrust a little hand from the folds of her silkenkimono. 

"Au revoir, ma petite, " she said, "we shall meet again. You willcome and see me, nest-ce pas? And say nothing to anybodyabout... " she pointed to Barbara's bag where the little packagewas reposing, "it shall be a secret between us, hein? Promise methis, mon enfant!"

"Of course, I promise, if you like!" said Barbara, wonderingly. 

At half-past eight the next morning Desmond Okewood found himselfin the ante-room of the Chief of the Secret Service in a crossand puzzled mood. The telephone at his bedside had roused him at8 a. M. From the first sleep he had had in a real bed for twomonths. In a drowsy voice he had protested that he had anappointment at the War Office at 10 o'clock, but a curt voice hadbidden him dress himself and come to the Chief forthwith. Here hewas, accordingly, breakfastless, his chin smarting from a hastyshave. What the devil did the Chief want with him anyhow? Hewasn'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-shoulderedfigure in a plain jacket suit. Desmond had met him before. Heknew him for a man of many questions but of few confidences, yethis recollection of him was of a suave, imperturbablepersonality. To-day, however, the Chief seemed strangelypreoccupied. There was a deep line between his bushy eyebrows ashe bent them at Desmond, motioning him to a chair. When he spoke, his manner was very curt. 

"What time did you part from the Mackwaytes at the theatre lastnight?"

Desmond was dumbfounded. How on earth did the Chief know abouthis visit to the Palaceum? Still, he was used to the omniscienceof the British Intelligence, so he answered promptly:

"It was latish, sir; about midnight, I think!"

"They went home to Seven Kings alone!"

"Yes, sir, in a taxi!" Desmond replied. 

The Chief contemplated his blotting-pad gloomily. Desmond knew itfor a trick of his when worried. 

"Did you have a good night?" he said to Desmond, suddenly. 

"Yes, " he said, not in the least understanding the drift of thequestion. "... 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, Isuppose?" 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 meetingStrangwise, 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 thatthe doctor is with Miss Mackwayte now. "

Desmond started up. 

"Is Miss Mackwayte ill?" he exclaimed. 

The Chief answered slowly, as Matthews withdrew: "Mr. Mackwaytewas found murdered at his house early this morning!"

CHAPTER IV. MAJOR OKEWOOD ENCOUNTERS A NEW TYPE

There is a sinister ring about the word "murder, " which reactsupon even the most hardened sensibility. Edgar Allan Poe, who wasa master of the suggestive use of words, realized this when hecalled the greatest detective story ever written "The Murders inthe Rue Morgue. " From the very beginning of the war, Desmond hadseen death in all its forms but that word "murdered, " spoken withslow emphasis in the quiet room, gave him an ugly chill feelinground 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 deathor of the pretty Barbara prostrate with grief. He was overawed bythe curious fatality that had plucked him from the horrors ofFlanders only to plunge him into a tragedy at home. 

"Yes, " said the Chief bluntly, "by a burglar apparently--thehouse was ransacked!"

"Chief, " he broke out, "you must explain. I'm all at sea! Why didyou send for me? What have you got to do with criminal cases, anyway? Surely, this is a Scotland Yard matter!"

The Chief shook his head. 

"I sent for you in default of your brother, Okewood!" he said. "You once refused an offer of mine to take you into my service, but this time I had to have you, so I got the War Office towire... "

"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 murderbeforehand!"

The Chief threw back his head and laughed. 

"My dear fellow, " he said; "I'm not quite so deep as all that. Ihaven't second sight, you know!"

"You've got something devilish like it, sir!" said Desmond. "Howon 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 moreabout yourself? You sat... " he glanced down at the desk in frontof him, "... In Stall E 52 and, after Nur-el-Din's turn, Strangwise took you round and introduced you to the lady. In herdressing-room you met Mr. Mackwayte and his daughter. Afterthat... "

"But, " Desmond interrupted quickly, "I must have been followed byone of your men. Still, I can't see why my movements shouldinterest the Secret Service, sir!"

The Chief remained silent for a moment. Then he said:

"Fate often unexpectedly takes a hand in this game of ours, Okewood. I sent for you to come back from France but old manDestiny wouldn't leave it at that. Almost as soon as you landedhe switched you straight on to a trail that I have been patientlyfollowing 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 tookoff the receiver. 

"Just a minute, " the Chief said. Then he spoke into thetelephone:

"Marigold? Yes. Really? Very well, I'll come straight alongnow... 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 detectivework? That was Marigold of the Criminal InvestigationDepartment... He's down at Seven Kings handling this murder case. I asked him to let me know when it would be convenient for me tocome along and have a look round, and he wants me to go now. Twoheads 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 tellhim I've been called away and ask him to call back here at twoo'clock to see me. "

He paused and laid a lean finger reflectively along his nose. 

"Are you lunching anywhere, Okewood?" he 'said. Desmond shook hishead. 

"Then you will lunch with me, eh? Right. Come along and we'll tryto find the way to Seven Kings. "

The two men threaded the busy corridors to the lift whichdeposited them at the main entrance. A few minutes later theChief was dexterously guiding his Vauxhall car through thecrowded traffic of the Strand, Desmond beside him on the frontseat. 

Desmond was completely fogged in his mind. He couldn't see lightanywhere. He asked himself in vain what possible connection couldexist between this murder in an obscure quarter of London and theman at his side who, he knew, held in his firm hands lines thatstretched to the uttermost ends of the earth? What kind of anaffair was this, seemingly so commonplace that could take theChief's attention from the hundred urgent matters of nationalsecurity that occupied him?

The Chief seemed absorbed in his driving and Desmond felt itwould be useless to attempt to draw him out. They wended theirway through the city and out into the squalid length of the MileEnd Road. Then the Chief began to talk. 

"I hate driving through the City, " he exclaimed, "but I alwaysthink it's good for the nerves. Still, I have a feeling that Ishall smash this old car up some day. That friend of yours, Strangwise, now he's a remarkable man! Do you know his story?"

"About his escape from Germany?" asked Desmond. 

The Chief nodded. 

"He told me something about it at dinner last night, " saidDesmond, "but he's such a modest chap he doesn't seem to liketalking about it!"

"He must have a cool nerve, " replied the Chief, "he doesn't knowa word of German, except a few scraps he picked up in camp. Yet, after he got free, he made his way alone from somewhere inHanover clear to the Dutch frontier. And I tell you he kept hiseyes and ears open!"

"Was he able to tell you anything good" asked Desmond. 

"The man's just full of information. He couldn't take a note ofany kind, of course, but he seems to have a wonderful memory. Hewas able to give us the names of almost every unit of troops hecame 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 aboutthree months in France, and we got on top-hole together. He's aman absolutely without fear. "

"Yes, " agreed the Chief. "But what about his judgment? Would youcall him a well-balanced fellow? Or is he one of theseharum-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. TheBrigadier thought a lot of him. There's very little aboutartillery work that Strangwise doesn't know. Our Brigadier's agood judge, too... He was a gunner himself once, you know. "

"I'm glad to hear you say that, " answered the Chief, "becausethere are some things he has told us, about the movements oftroops, particularly, that don't agree in the least with our ownIntelligence reports. I am an old enough hand at my job to knowthat very often one man may be right where fifty independentwitnesses are dead wrong. Yet our reports from Germany have beenwonderfully accurate on the whole. "

He stopped. 

"Tell me, " he asked suddenly, "is Strangwise a liar, do youthink?"

Desmond laughed. The question was so very unexpected. 

"Let me explain what I mean, " said the Chief. "There is a type ofman who is quite incapable of telling the plain, unvarnishedtruth. That type of fellow might have the most extraordinaryadventure happen to him and yet be unable to let it stand on itsmerits. When he narrates it, he trims it up with all kinds ofembroidery. 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 meto be quite frank about Strangwise, Chief, I don't mind tellingyou I don't like him overmuch. We were very intimate in France. We were in some very tight corners together and he never let medown. He showed himself to be a very fine fellow, indeed. Thereare points about him I admire immensely. I love his finephysique, his manliness. I'm sure he's got great strength ofcharacter, too. It's because I admire all this about him that Ithink perhaps it's just jealousy on my part when I feel... "

"What?" said the Chief. 

"Well, " said Desmond slowly, "I feel myself trying to likesomething below the surface in the man. And then I am balked. There seems to be something abysmally deep behind the facade, ifyou know what I mean. If I think about it much, it seems to methat there is too much surface about Strangwise and not enoughfoundation! And he smiles... Well, rather often, doesn't he?"

"I know what you mean, " said the Chief. "I always tell my youngmen to be wary when a man smiles too much. Smiles are sometimescamouflage, to cover up something that mustn't be seenunderneath! Strangwise is a Canadian, isn't he?"

"I think so, " answered Desmond, "anyhow, he has lived there. Buthe 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 aturning marked "Laleham Villas. "

Laleham Villas proved to be an immensely long terrace of smalltwo-story houses, each one exactly like the other, the onlydifference between them lying in the color of the front doors andthe arrangement of the small strip of garden in front of each. The houses stretched away on either side in a vista ofsmoke-discolored yellow brick. The road was perfectly straightand, in the dull yellow atmosphere of the winter morning, unspeakably depressing. 

The abode of small clerks and employees, Laleham Villas hadrendered up, an hour before, its daily tribute of humanity to theCity-bound trains of the Great Eastern Railway. The Mackwayte'shouse was plainly indicated, about 200 yards down on theright-hand side, by a knot of errand boys and bareheaded womengrouped on the side-walk. A large, phlegmatic policeman stood atthe gate. 

"You'll like Marigold, " said the Chief to Desmond as they got outof the car, "quite a remarkable man and very sound at his work!"

British officers don't number detective inspectors among theirhabitual acquaintances, and the man that came out of the house tomeet them was actually the first detective that Desmond had evermet. Ever since the Chief had mentioned his name, Desmond hadbeen wondering whether Mr. Marigold would be lean and pale andbewildering like Mr. Sherlock Holmes or breezy and wiry like thedetectives in American crook plays. 

The man before him did not bear the faintest resemblance toeither type. He was a well-set up, broad-shouldered person ofabout forty-five, very carefully dressed in a blue serge suit andblack overcoat, with a large, even-tempered countenance, whichsloped into a high forehead. The neatly brushed but thinninglocks carefully arranged across the top of the head testified tothe fact that Mr. Marigold had sacrificed most of his hair to thevicissitudes of his profession. When it is added that thedetective had a small, yellow moustache and a pleasant, cultivated voice, there remains nothing further to say about Mr. Marigold's external appearance. But there was something so patentabout the man, his air of reserve, his careful courtesy, hisshrewd eyes, that Desmond at once recognized him for a type, acast from a certain specific mould. All services shape men totheir own fashion. There is the type of Guardsman, the type ofairman, 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, lookingdown at Desmond's proffered one, "for I'm in a filthy mess and noerror. But won't you come in, sir?" he said to the Chief and ledthe way across the mosaic tile pathway to the front door whichstood open. 

"I don't think this is anything in your line, sir, " said Mr. Marigold to the Chief as the three men entered the house, "it'snothing but just a common burglary. The old man evidently heard anoise and coming down, surprised the burglar who lost his headand killed him. The only novel thing about the whole case is thatthe old party was shot with a pistol and not bludgeoned, as isusually the case in affairs of this kind. And I shouldn't havethought that the man who did it was the sort that carries agun... "

"Then you know who did it?" asked the Chief quietly. 

"I think I can safely say I do, sir, " said Mr. Marigold with thereluctant air of one who seldom admits anything to be a fact, "Ithink I can go as far as that! And we've got our man under lockand key!"

"That's a smart piece of work, Marigold, " said the Chief. 

"No, sir, " replied the other, "you could hardly call it that. Hejust walked into the arms of a constable over there nearGoodmayes Station with the swag on him. He's an old hand... We'veknown him for a receiver for years!

"Who is it?" asked the Chief, "not one of my little friends, Isuppose, eh, Marigold!"

"Dear me, no, sir, " answered Mr. Marigold, chuckling, "it's oneof old Mackwayte's music-hall pals, name o' Barney!"

CHAPTER V. THE MURDER AT SEVEN KINGS

"This is Mrs. Chugg, sir, " said Mr. Marigold, "the charwoman whofound the body!"

The Chief and Desmond stood at the detective's side in theMackwaytes' little dining-room. The room was in considerabledisorder. There was a litter of paper, empty bottles, overturnedcruets and other debris on the floor, evidence of thethoroughness with which the burglar had overhauled the cheapfumed oak sideboard which stood against the wall with doors anddrawers open. In the corner, the little roll-top desk showed agreat gash in the wood round the lock where it had been forced. The remains of a meal still stood on the table. 

Mrs. Chugg, a diminutive, white-haired, bespectacled woman in arusty black cape and skirt, was enthroned in the midst of thisscene of desolation. She sat in an armchair by the fire, herhands in her lap, obviously supremely content with the positionof importance she enjoyed. At the sound of Mr. Marigold's voice, she bobbed up and regarded the newcomers with the air of atragedy queen. 

"Yus mister, " she said with the slow deliberation of one whothoroughly enjoys repeating an oft-told tale, "I found the poreman and a horrid turn it give me, too, I declare! I come in earlythis morning a-purpose to turn out these two rooms, thedining-room and the droring-room, same as I always do of aSaturday, along of the lidy's horders and wishes. I come in 'erefust, to pull up the blinds and that, and d'reckly I switches onthe light 'Burglars!' I sez to meself, 'Burglars! That's wot itis!' seeing the nasty mess the place was in. Up I nips to MissMackwayte's room on the first floor and in I bursts. 'Miss, ' sezI, 'Miss, there's been burglars in the house!' and then I seesthe 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 wasstrapped up that tight with a towel crammed in 'er mouth shecouldn't 'ardly dror 'er breath! I undid 'er pretty quick and thefust thing she sez w'en I gets the towl out of her mouth, thepore dear, is 'Mrs. Chugg, ' she sez all of a tremble as you mightsay, 'Mrs. Chugg' sez she, 'my father! my father!' sez she. Withthat up she jumps but she 'adn't put foot to the floor w'en downshe drops! It was along of 'er being tied up orl that time, dyersee, mister! I gets 'er back on the bed. 'You lie still, Miss, 'says I, 'and I'll pop in and tell your pa to come in to you!'Well; I went to the old genelmun's room. Empty!"

Mrs. Chugg paused to give her narrative dramatic effect. 

"And where did you find Mr. Mackwayte?" asked the Chief in such aplacid voice that Mrs. Chugg cast an indignant glance at him. 

"I was jes' going downstairs to see if 'e was in the kitching orout at the back, " she continued, unheeding the interruption, "when there on the landing I sees a foot asticking out from underthe 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 allburnt black, like, and a fair smother o' blood. Under 'is hedthere was a pool o' blood, mister, yer may believe me or not... "

Mr. Marigold cut in decisively. 

"Do you wish to see the body, sir?" the detective asked theChief, "they're upstairs photographing it!"

The Chief nodded. He and Desmond followed the detective upstairs, whilst Mrs. Chugg resentfully resumed her seat by the fire. Onher face was the look of one who has cast pearls before swine. 

"Any finger-prints?" asked the Chief in the hall. 

"Oh, no, " he said, "Barney's far too old a hand for that sort o'thing!"

The landing proved to be a small space, covered with oilcloth andraised by a step from the bend made by the staircase leading tothe first story. On the left-hand side was a window looking on anarrow passage separating the Mackwayte house from its neighborsand leading to the back-door. By the window stood a smallwicker-work table with a plant on it. At the back of the landingwas a partition, glazed half-way up and a door--obviously thebath-room. 

The curtain had been looped right over its brass rod. The bodylay on its back at the foot of the table, arms flung outward, oneleg doubled up, the other with the foot just jutting out over thestep leading down to the staircase. The head pointed towards thebath-room door. Over the right eye the skin of the face wasblackened in a great patch and there was a large blue swelling, like a bruise, in the centre. There was a good deal of blood onthe face which obscured the hole made by the entrance of thebullet. The eyes were half-closed. A big camera, pointeddownwards, was mounted on a high double ladder straddling thebody and was operated by a young man in a bowler hat who went onwith his work without taking the slightest notice of thedetective and his companions. 

"Close range, " murmured Desmond, after glancing at the dead man'sface, "a large calibre automatic pistol, I should think!"

"Why do you think it was a large calibre pistol, Major?" askedMr. Marigold attentively. 

"I've seen plenty of men killed at close range by revolver andrifle bullets out at the front, " replied Desmond, "but I neversaw a man's face messed up like this. In a raid once I shot aGerman at point blank range with my revolver, the ordinary Armyissue pattern, and I looked him over after. But it wasn'tanything like this. The only thing I've seen approaching it wasone of our sergeants who was killed out on patrol by a Hunofficer who put his gun right in our man's face. That sergeantwas pretty badly marked, but... "

He shook his head. Then he added, addressing the detective:"Let's see the gun! Have you got it?"

Mr. Marigold shook his head. 

"He hadn't got it on him, " he answered, "he swears he never had agun. I expect he chucked it away somewhere. It'll be our businessto find it for him!"

He smiled rather grimly, then added:

"Perhaps you'd care to have a look at Miss Mackwayte's room, sir!"

"Is Miss Mackwayte there" asked the Chief. 

"I got her out of this quick, " replied Mr. Marigold, "she's had abad shock, poor girl, though she gave her evidence clearly enoughfor all that... As far as it goes and that's not much. Somefriends near by have taken her in! The doctor has given her somebromide and says she's got to be kept quiet... "

"What's her story!" queried the Chief. 

"She can't throw much light on the business. She and her fatherreached home from the theatre about a quarter past twelve, had abit of supper in the dining-room and went up to bed before oneo'clock. Miss Mackwayte saw her father go into his room, which isnext to hers, and shut the door. The next thing she knows is thatshe woke up suddenly with some kind of a loud noise in herears... That was the report of the pistol, I've no doubt... Shethought for a minute it was an air raid. Then suddenly a hand waspressed over her mouth, something was crammed into her mouth andshe was firmly strapped down to the bed. "

"Did she see the man?" asked Desmond. 

"She didn't see anything from first to last, " answered thedetective, "as far as she is concerned it might have been a womanor a black man who trussed her up. It was quite dark in herbedroom and this burglar fellow, after binding and gagging her, fastened a bandage across her eyes into the bargain. She says sheheard him moving about her room and then creep out very softly. The next thing she knew was Mrs. Chugg arriving at her bedsidethis morning. "

"What time did this attack take place?" asked the Chief. 

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

"But can she make no guess!"

"Well, she says she thinks it was several hours before Mrs. Chuggarrived in the morning... As much as three hours, she thinks!"

"And what time did Mrs. Chugg arrive!"

"At half-past six!"

"About Mackwayte... How long was he dead when they found him?What does the doctor say?"

"About three hours approximately, but you know, they can't alwaystell to an hour or so!"

"Well, " said the Chief slowly, "it looks as if one might figurethe murder as having been committed some time between 3 and 3. 30a. M. "

"My idea exactly, " said Mr. Marigold. "Shall we go upstairs?"

He conducted the Chief and Desmond up the short flight of stairsto the first story. He pushed open the first door he came to. 

"Mackwayte's room, on the back, " he said, "bed slept in, as yousee, old gentleman's clothes on a chair--obviously he wasdisturbed by some noise made by the burglar and came out to seewhat was doing! And here, " he indicated a door adjoining, "MisMiss Mackwayte's room, on the front; as you observe. They don'tuse the two rooms on the second floor, except for box-rooms... One'sfull of old Mackwayte's theatre trunks and stuff. They keepno servant; Mrs. Chugg comes in each morning and stays all day. She goes away after supper every evening. "

Desmond found himself looking into a plainly furnished but daintybedroom with white furniture and a good deal of chintz about. There were some photographs and pictures hanging on the walls. The room was spotlessly clean and very tidy. 

Desmond remarked on this, asking if the police had put the roomstraight. 

Mr. Marigold looked quite shocked. 

"Oh, no, everything is just as it was when Mrs. Chugg found MissMackwayte this morning. There's Miss Mackwayte's gloves andhandbag on the toilet-table just as she left 'em last night. Iwouldn't let her touch her clothes even. She went over to Mrs. Appleby's in her dressing-gown, in a taxi. "

"Then Master Burglar didn't burgle this room?" asked the Chief. 

"Nothing touched, not even the girl's money, " replied Marigold. 

"Then why did he come up here at all?" asked Desmond. 

"Obviously, the old gentleman disturbed him, " was the detective'sreply. "Barney got scared and shot the old gentleman, then cameup here to make sure that the daughter would not give him awaybefore he could make his escape. He must have known the report ofthe gun would wake her up. "

"But are there no clues or finger-prints or anything of that kindhere, Marigold?" asked the Chief. 

"Not a finger-print anywhere, " responded the other, "men likeBarney are born wise to the fingerprint business, sir. "

He dipped a finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket. 

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

He held in his hand a piece of paper folded flat. He unfolded itand disclosed a loop of dark hair. 

"There!" he said mockingly, straightening out the hair andholding it up in the light. "That's calculated to set one'sthoughts running all over the place, isn't it? That piece of hairwas caught in the buckle of one of the straps with which MissMackwayte was bound to the bed. Miss Mackwayte, I would pointout, has brown hair. Whose hair do you think that is?"

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

The Chief laughed and shook his head. 

"Haven't an idea, Marigold, " he answered, "Barney's, I shouldimagine, that is, if he goes about with black ringlets fallinground 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 intothe habit of wearing his hair short!"

He carefully rolled the strand of hair up, replaced it in itspaper and stowed it in his waistcoat pocket. 

"It just shows how easily one is misled in a matter of thiskind, " he went on. "Supposing Barney hadn't got himself nabbed, supposing I hadn't been able to find out from Miss Mackwayte hermovements on the night previous to the murder, that strand ofhair might have led me on a fine wild goose chase!"

"But, damn it, Marigold, " exclaimed the Chief, laughing, "youhaven'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 hiseyes. Desmond was amazed at the change in the man. The languidinterest he had taken in the different details of the crimevanished. Something seemed to tighten up suddenly in his face andmanner. 

"Why Nur-el-Din?" he asked curtly. 

Mr. Marigold glanced quickly at him. Desmond remarked that thedetective was sensible of the change too. 

"Simply because Miss Mackwayte spent some time in the dancer'sdressing-room last night, sir, " he replied quietly, "she probablysat at her dressing-table and picked up this hair in hers or inher veil or something and it dropped on the bed where one ofMaster Barney's buckles caught it up. "

He spoke carelessly but Desmond noticed that he kept a watchfuleye on the other. 

The Chief did not answer. He seemed to have relapsed into thepreoccupied mood in which Desmond had found him that morning. 

"I was going to suggest, sir, " said Mr. Marigold diffidently, "ifyou had the time, you might care to look in at the Yard, and seethe prisoner. I don't mind telling you that he is swearing by allthe tribes of Judah that he's innocent of the murder of oldMackwayte. He's got an amazing yarn... Perhaps you'd like to hearit!"

Mr. Marigold suddenly began to interest Desmond. His proposal wasput forward so modestly that one would have thought the lastthing he believed possible was that the Chief should acquiesce inhis suggestion. Yet Desmond had the feeling that the detectivewas far from being so disinterested as he wished to seem. Itstruck Desmond that the case was more complicated than Mr. Marigold admitted and that the detective knew it. Had Mr. Marigold discovered that the Chief knew a great deal more aboutthis mysterious affair than the detective knew himself? And wasnot his attitude of having already solved the problem of themurder, his treatment of the Chief as a dilettante criminologistsimply an elaborate pose, to extract from the Chief informationwhich had not been proffered?

The Chief glanced at his watch. 

"Right, " he said, "I think I'd like to go along. "

"I have a good deal to do here still, " observed Mr. Marigold, "so, if you don't mind, I won't accompany you. But perhaps, sir, you would like to see me this afternoon?"

The Chief swung round on his heel and fairly searched Mr. Marigold with a glance from beneath his bushy eyebrows. Thedetective returned his gaze with an expression of supremeinnocence. 

"Why, Marigold, " answered the Chief, "I believe I should. Sixo'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, Desmondturned to open it and came face to face with a large framedphotograph of the Chief hanging on the wall of Miss Mackwayte'sbedroom. 

"Why, Chief, " he cried, "you never told me you knew MissMackwayte!"

The Chief professed to be very taken aback by this question. "Dear me, didn't I, Okewood?" he answered with eyes laughing, "she's my secretary!"

CHAPTER VI. "NAME O'BARNEY"

"Miss Mackwayte telephoned to ask if I could go and see, her, "said the Chief to Desmond as they motored back to White hall, "Marigold gave me the message just as we were coming out. Sheasked if I could come this afternoon. I'm going to send you in myplace, Okewood. I've got a conference with the head of the FrenchIntelligence at three, and the Lord knows when I shall get away. I've a notion that you and Miss Mackwayte will work very welltogether. "

"Certainly, " said Desmond, "she struck me as being a verycharming and clever girl. Now I know the source of yourinformation about my movements last night!"

"That you certainly don't!" answered the Chief promptly, "if Ithought you did Duff and No. 39 should be sacked on the spot!"

"Then it wasn't Miss Mackwayte who told you?"

"I haven't seen or heard from Miss Mackwayte since she left myoffice yesterday evening. You were followed!"

"But why?"

"I'll tell you all about it at, lunch!"

Bated once more, Desmond retired into his shell. By this he wasconvinced of the utter impossibility of making the Chiefvouchsafe any information except voluntarily. 

Mr. Marigold had evidently announced their coming to ScotlandYard, for a very urbane and delightful official met them at theentrance and conducted them to a room where the prisoner wasalready awaiting them in charge of a plain clothes man. There theofficial excused himself and retired, leaving them alone with theprisoner and his escort. 

Barney proved to be a squat, podgy, middle-aged Jew of thefamiliar East End Polish or Russian type. He had little blackbeady eyes, a round fat white face, and a broad squabby Mongolnose. His clothes were exceedingly seedy, and the police hadconfiscated his collar and tie. This absence of neckwear, coupledwith the fact that the lower part of his face was sprouting witha heavy growth of beard, gave him a peculiarly villainousappearance:

He was seated on a chair, his head sunk on his breast. His eyeswere hollow, and his face overspread with a horrible sicklygreenish pallor, the hue of the last stage of fear. His hands, resting on his knees, twisted and fiddled continually. Every nowand then convulsive shudders shook him. The man was quiteobviously on the verge of a collapse. 

As the Chief and Desmond advanced into the room, the Jew lookedup in panic. Then he sprang to his feet with a scream and flunghimself on his knees, crying:

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

"Get him up!" said the Chief in disgust, "and, look here, can'tyou give him a drink? I want to speak to him. He's not fit totalk rationally in this state!"

The detective pushed a bell in the wall, a policeman answered it, and presently the prisoner was handed a stiff glass of whiskeyand water. 

After Barney had swallowed it, the Chief said:

"Now, look here, my man, I want you to tell me exactly whathappened last night. No fairy tales, remember! I know what youtold the police, and if I catch you spinning me any yarns on toit, well, it'll only be the worse for you. I don't mind tellingyou, you're in a pretty bad mess!"

The prisoner put down the glass wearily and wiped his foreheadwith the back of his hand. Though the room was bitterly cold, theperspiration stood out in beads on his brow. 

"I have told the trewth, sir, " he said hoarsely, "and it goesagainst me, don't it? Hafen't I not gif myself op to thepoliceman? Couldn't I not haf drop the svag and ron away? Forsure! And vy didn't I not do it? For vy, because of vot I seen inthat house. I've 'ad my bit of trobble mit the police and vyshould I tell them how I vos op to a game last night if I vas nota-telling the trewth, eh! I've been on the crook, gentlemen, Isay it, ja, but I ain't no murderer, God choke me I ain't!

"I've earned gut monney in my time on the 'alls but life is very'ardt, and I've been alvays hongry these days. Yesterday I meetold Mac wot I used to meet about the 'alls I vos workin' along o'my boss... At the agent's it vos were I vos lookin' for a shop!The perfesh always makes a splash about its salaries, gentlemen, and Mac 'e vos telling me vot a lot o' monney he make on theSamuel Circuit and 'ow 'e 'ad it at home all ready to put intovar savings certif'kits. I never done a job like this von before, gentlemen, but I vos hardt pushed for money, s'welp me I vos!

"I left it till late last night because of these air raids... Ivanted to be sure that ole Mac and 'is daughter should be asleep. I god in from the back of the louse, oi, oi, bot it vos deadeasy! through the scollery vindow. I cleared op a bagful of stuffin the dining-room... There vosn't, anything vorth snatchingouter the parlor... And sixty-five quid out of an old cigar-boxin the desk. The police 'as got it... I give it all back! I say Ihaf 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 continuedin his hoarse, gutteral voice, 'ven snick. !... I hears a key inthe front door. I vos, standing by the staircase... I had no timeto get out by the vay I had kom so I vent opstairs to the landingvere there vos a curtain. I shlip behind the curtain and vait! Idare not look out but I listen, I listen.. I hear some one gointo the dining-room and move about. I open the curtain a littleway... So!... Because I think I vill shlip downstairs vile theother party is in the dining-room... And there I sees ole Mac inhis dressing-gown just coming down from the first floor. The samemoment I hear a step in the front hall. 

"I see ole Mac start but he does not stop. He kom rightdownstairs, and I step back behind the curtain ontil I find adoor vich I push. I dare not svitch on my light but presently Ifeel the cold edge of a bath with my hands. I stay there andvait. 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 gentlemenare waiting?"

The Jew resumed, his voice sinking almost to a whisper. 

"It vos quite dark behind the curtain but from the bathroom, through the open door, I could just see ole Mac standing with hisback to me, a-holding the curtain. He must haf shlip in there towatch the other who vos komming opstairs. Then... Then... I heara step on the stair... A little, soft step... Then ole Mac heopen the curtain and cry 'Who are you?' Bang! the... The... Otheron the stairs he fire a shot. I see the red flash and I smellthe... The powder not? The other, he does not vait... He just goon opstairs and ole Mac is lying there on his back with the blooda-trickling out on the oil-cloth. And I, vith my bag on my back, I creep downstair and out by the back again, and I ron and ronand then I valks. Gott! how I haf walked! I vos so frightened!And then, at last, I go to a policeman and gif 'myself op!"

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

The detective patted him on the back. 

"Pull yourself together, man!" he said encouragingly. 

"This man on the stairs, " queried the Chief, "did you see him?"

"Ach was!" replied the prisoner, turning a tearstained facetowards him, "I haf seen nothing, except old Mac's back vich vosright in vront of me, it vos so dark!"

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

The prisoner made a gesture of despair. 

"It vos so dark, I say! Nothing haf I seen! I haf heard only hisstep!"

"What sort of step I Pas it heavy or light or what? Did thisperson seem in a hurry?"

"A little light tread... So! won, two! won, two!, and qvick like'e think 'e sneak opstairs vithout nobody seeing!"

"Did he make much noise"

"Ach was! hardly at all... The tread, 'e vos so light like awoman's... "

"Like a woman's, eh!", repeated the Chief, as if talking tohimself, "Why do you think that?"

"Because for vy it vos so gentle! The' staircase, she haf notsqveak as she haf sqveak when I haf creep away!"

The Chief turned to the plain clothes man. 

"You can take him away now, officer, " he said. 

Barney sprang up trembling. 

"Not back to the cell, " he cried imploringly, "I cannot be alone. Oh, gentlemen, you vill speak for me! I haf not had trobble viththe police this long time! My vife's cousin, he is an elder ofthe Shool he vill tell you 'ow poor ve haf been... "

But the Chief crossed the room to the door and the detectivehustled 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 seethe post mortem report. The doctor has just handed it in. "

The chief waved him off. 

"I don't think there's any doubt about the cause of death, " hereplied, "we saw the body ourselves... "

"Quite so, " replied the other, "but there is somethinginteresting about this report all the same. They were able toextract the bullet!"

"Oh, " said the Chief, "that ought to tell us something!"

"It does, " answered the official. "We've submitted it to oursmall arms expert, and he pronounces it to be a bullet fired byan automatic pistol of unusually large calibre. "

The Chief looked at Desmond. 

"You were right there, " he said. 

"And, " the official went on, "our man says, further, that, as faras he knows, there is only one type of automatic pistol thatfires a bullet as big as this one!"

"And that is?" asked the Chief. 

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

The Chief tapped a cigarette meditatively on the back of hishand. 

"Okewood, " he said, "you are the very model of discretion. I haveput your reticence to a pretty severe test this morning, and youhave stood it very well. But I can see that you are bristlingwith questions like a porcupine with quills. Zero hour hasarrived. You may fire away!"

They were sitting in the smoking-room of the United Service Club. "The Senior, " as men call it, is the very parliament of Britain'sprofessional navy and army. Even in these days when war has flungwide the portals of the two services to all-comers, it retains atouch of rigidity. Famous generals and admirals look down fromthe lofty walls in silent testimony of wars that have been. Ofthe war that is, you will hear in every cluster of men round thelittle tables. Every day in the hour after luncheon battles arefought over again, personalities criticized, and decisionsweighed with all the vigorous freedom of ward-room or the messante-room. 

And so to-day, as he sat in his padded leather chair, surveyingthe Chief's quizzing face across the little table where theircoffee was steaming, Desmond felt the oddness of the contrastbetween the direct, matter-of-fact personalities all around them, and the extraordinary web of intrigue which seemed to have spunitself round the little house at Seven Kings. 

Before he answered the Chief's question, he studied him for amoment under cover of lighting a cigarette. How very little, tobe sure, escaped that swift and silent mind! At luncheon theChief had scrupulously avoided making, the slightest allusion tothe thoughts with which Desmond's mind was seething. Instead hehad told, with the gusto of the born raconteur, a string ofextremely droll yarns about "double crosses, " that is, obliginggentlemen who will spy for both sides simultaneously, he had comeinto contact with during his long and varied career. Desmond hadplayed up to him and repressed the questions which kept rising tohis lips. Hence the Chief's unexpected tribute to him in thesmoking room. 

"Well, " said Desmond slowly, "there are one or two things Ishould like to know. What am I here for? Why did you have mefollowed last night? How did you know, before we ever went toSeven Kings, that Barney did not murder old Mackwayte? Andlastly... "

He paused, fearing to be rash; then he risked it:

"And lastly, Nur-el-Din?"

The Chief leant back in his chair and laughed. 

"I'm sure you feel much better now, " he said. Then his face grewgrave 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 Ihad you followed last night, that's why I... " he hesitated forthe word, "let's say, presumed (one knows for certain so littlein our work) that our friend Barney had nothing to do with theviolent 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 chaircloser. 

"There's only one other man in the world can handle this job, except you, " he began, "and that's your brother Francis. Do youknow where he is, Okewood?"

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

The Chief laughed. 

"His present address is not Athens, " he said, "if you want toknow, he's serving on a German Staff somewhere at the back ofJerusalem the Golden. Frankly, I know you don't care about ourwork, and I did my best to get your brother. He has had hisinstructions and as soon as he can get away he will. That was notsoon enough for me. It had to be him or you. So I sent for you. "

He stopped and cleared his throat. Desmond stared at him. Hecould hardly believe his eyes. This quiet, deliberate man wasactually embarrassed. 

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

Desmond made a gesture. 

"Wait a moment and hear me out, " the Chief went on. "What isrequired for this job is a man of great courage and steady nerve. Yes, we have plenty of fellows like that. But the man I amlooking for must, in addition to possessing those qualities, knowGerman and the Germans thoroughly, and when I say thoroughly Imean 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 knowGerman perfectly and can get themselves up to look the part tothe life. But they have never been put to the real, the searchingtest. Not one of them has done what you and your brothersuccessfully accomplished. The first time I came across you, youhad just come out of Germany after fetching your brother away. Tohave lived for weeks in Germany in wartime and to have got clearaway is a feat which shows that both you and he can be trusted tomake a success of one of the most difficult and critical missionsI have ever had to propose. Francis is not here. That's why Iwant you. "

The Chief paused as if weighing something in his mind. 

"It's not the custom of either service, Okewood, " he said, "tosend a man to certain death. You're not in this creepy, crawlybusiness of ours. You're a pukka soldier and keen on your job. SoI want you to know that you are free to turn down this offer ofmine here and now, and go back to France without my thinking abit 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 twomen in this secret, myself and the fellow who undertakes themission. Of course, it's not certain death. If you take thisthing on, you'll have a sporting chance for your life, but that'sall. It's going to be a desperate game played against a desperateopponent. Now do you understand why I didn't want you to think Iwas flattering you? You've got your head screwed on right, Iknow, but I should hate to feel afterwards, if anything wentwrong, that you thought I had buttered you up in order to enticeyou into taking the job on!"

Desmond took two or three deep puffs of his cigarette and droppedit into the ash-tray. 

"I'll see you!" he said. 

The Chief grinned with delight. 

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I knew you were my man!"

CHAPTER VII. NUR-EL-DIN

The love of romance is merely the nobler form of curiosity. Andthere was something in Desmond Okewood's Anglo-Irish parentagethat made him fiercely inquisitive after adventure. In him twomen were constantly warring, the Irishman, eager for romance yettoo indolent to go out in search of it, and the Englishman, cautious yet intensely vital withal, courting danger for danger'ssake. 

All his ill-humor of the morning at being snatched away from hiswork in France had evaporated. In the Chief he now saw only themagician who was about to unlock to him the realms of Adventure. Desmond's eyes shone with excitement as the other, obviouslysimmering with satisfaction, lit another cigarette and began tospeak. 

"The British public, Okewood, " he said, hitching his chaircloser, "would like to see espionage in this country renderedimpossible. Such an ideal state of things is, unfortunately outof the question. Quite on the contrary, this country of ours ishoneycombed with spies. So it will ever be, as long as we have towork with natural means: at present we have no caps ofinvisibility or magician's carpets available. 

"As we cannot hope to kill the danger, we do our best to scotchit. Personally, my modest ambition is to make espionage asdifficult as possible for the enemy by knowing as many aspossible of his agents and their channels of communication, andby keeping him happy with small results, to prevent him fromfinding out the really important things, the disclosure of whichwould 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 ignorethe non-essentials and stick to the essentials. By thenonessentials I mean the little potty spies, actuated by sheerhunger or mere officiousness, the neutral busybody who makes atip-and-run dash into England, the starving waiter, miserablyunderpaid by some thieving rogue in a neutral country--or thefrank swindler who sends back to the Fatherland and is duly paidfor long reports about British naval movements which he hasconcocted 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 youknow? But spasmodic reports we can afford to ignore. What we aredeath on is anything like a regular news service from thiscountry to Germany; and to keep up this steady flow of reliableinformation is the perpetual striving of the men who run theGerman Secret Service. 

"These fellows, my dear Okewood, move in darkness. Very often wehave to grope after 'em in darkness, too. They don't get shot, orhardly ever; they are far too clever for that. Between us andthem it is a never-ending series of move and countermove, checkand counter-check. Very often we only know of their activities byenemy action based on their reports. Then there is another leakto be caulked, another rat-hole to be nailed up, and so the gamegoes on. Hitherto I think I may say we have managed to hold ourown!"

The Chief stopped to light another cigarette. Then he resumed butin a lower voice. 

"During the past month, Okewood, " he said, "a new organizationhas cropped up. The objective of every spy operating in thiscountry is, as you may have surmised, naval matters, themovements of the Fleet, the military transports, and the foodconvoys. This new organization has proved itself more efficientthan any of its predecessors. It specializes in the movement oftroops to France, and in the journeys of the hospital shipsacross the Channel. Its information is very prompt and extremelyaccurate, as we know too well. There have been some verydisquieting incidents in which, for once in a way, luck has beenon our side, but as long as this gang can work in the dark thereis the danger of a grave catastrophe. With its thousands of milesof sea to patrol, the Navy has to take a chance sometimes, youknow! Well, on two occasions lately, when chances were taken, theHun knew we were taking a chance, and what is more, when andwhere we were taking it!"

The Chief broke off, then looking Desmond squarely in the eyes, said:

"This is the organization that you're going to beak up!"

Desmond raised his eyebrows. 

"Who is at the head of it?" he asked quietly. 

The Chief, smiled a little bitterly. 

"By George!" he cried, slapping his thigh, "you've rung the bellin one. Okewood, I'm not a rich man, but I would gladly give ayear's pay to be able to answer that question. To be perfectlyfrank 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'sNur-el-Din, for instance. What about her?"

"That young person, " replied the Chief, "is to be your particularstudy. 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 toascertain the exact role she is playing. "

"But what is there against her?" queried Desmond. 

"What is there against her? The bad company she keeps is againsther. '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. Youhave met the lady. Did you see any of her entourage? Her businessmanager, a fat Italian who calls himself Lazarro, did you noticehim? Would you be surprised to hear that Lazarro alias Sacchettialias Le Tardenois is a very notorious international spy whoafter working in the Italian Secret Service in the pay of theGermans was unmasked and kicked out of Italy... That was beforethe war? This pleasant gentleman subsequently did five years inthe French penal settlements in New Caledonia for robbery withviolence at Aix-les-Bains... Oh, we know a whole lot about him!And this woman's other friends! Do you know, for instance, whereshe often spends the week-end? At the country-place of one BryanMowbury, whose name used to be Bernhard Marburg, a very old handindeed in the German Secret Service. She has identified herselfright and left with the German espionage service in this country. One day she lunches with a woman spy, whose lover was caught andshot by the French. Then she goes out motoring with... "

"But why in Heaven's name are all these people allowed to runloose?" broke in Desmond. "Do you mean to say you can't arrestthem?"

"Arrest 'em? Arrest 'em? Of course, we can arrest 'em. But what'sthe use? They're all small fry, and we have to keep out a fewlines baited with minnows to catch the Tritons. None of 'em cando any harm: we watch 'em much too closely for that. Once you'velocated your spy, the battle's won. It's when he--or it may be ashe--is running loose, that I get peeved!"

The Chief sprang impatiently to his feet and strode across thesmoking-room, which was all but empty by this time, to get amatch from a table. He resumed his seat with a grunt ofexasperation. 

"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 neednot have called you in. We would have interned or deported her. No, we've traced back to her a line leading straight from theonly member of the new organization we have been able to lay bythe heels. "

"Then you've made an arrest?"

The Chief nodded. 

"A fortnight ago... A respectable, retired English business man, by name of Basil Bellward... Taken with the goods on him, as thesaying is... "

"An Englishman, by Jove!"

"It's hardly correct to call him an Englishman, though he's posedas an English business man for so long that one is almostjustified in doing so. As a matter of fact, the fellow is aGerman named Wolfgang Bruhl and it is my belief that he wasplanted in this country at least a dozen years ago solely for thepurpose of furnishing him with good, respectable credentials foran emergency like this. "

"But sorely if you found evidence of his connection with thisgang of spies, it should be easy to get a clue to the rest of thecrowd?"

"Not so easy as you think, " the Chief replied. "The man whoorganized this system of espionage is a master at his craft. Hehas been careful to seal both ends of every connection, that isto say, though we found evidence of Master Bellward-Bruhl beingin possession of highly confidential information relating to themovements of troops, we discovered nothing to show whence hereceived it or how or where he was going to forward it. But wedid find a direct thread leading straight back to Nur-el-Din. "

"Really, " said Desmond, "that rather complicates things for her, doesn't it?"

"It was in the shape of a letter of introduction, in French, without date or address, warmly recommending the dancer to ourfriend, Bellward. "

"Who is this letter from?"

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

"But surely, sir, such a letter might be presented in perfectlygood faith... "

"It might, but not this one. This letter, as an expert hasascertained beyond all doubt, is written on German manufacturednote-paper of a very superior quality;, the writing is stiff andangular and not French: and lastly, the French in which it isphrased, while correct, is unusually pompous and elaborate. "

"Then... "

"The letter was, in all probability, written by a German!"

There was a moment's silence. Desmond was thinking despairinglyof the seeming hopelessness of untangling this intricate webworkof tangled threads. 

"And this murder, sir, " he began. 

The Chief shrugged his shoulders. 

"The motive, Okewood, I am searching for the motive. I can seenone except the highly improbable one of Miss Mackwayte being myconfidential secretary. In that case why murder the father, aharmless old man who didn't even know that his daughter is in myservice, why kill him, I ask you, and spare the girl? On theother hand, I believe the man Barney's story, and can see thatMarigold does, too. When I first heard the news of the murderover the telephone this morning, I had a kind of intuition thatwe should discover in it a thread leading back to this mesh ofespionage. Is it merely a coincidence that a hair, resemblingNur-el-Din's, is found adhering to the straps with which BarbaraMackwayte was bound? I can't think so... And yet... "

"But do you believe then, that Nur-el-Din murdered-old Mackwayte?My dear Chief, the idea is preposterous... "

The Chief rose from his chair with a sigh. 

"Nothing is preposterous in our work, Okewood, " he replied. "Butit'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 knowsNur-el-Din, and he may be able to give Marigold some pointersabout this affair. You're off to see Miss Mackwayte now, Isuppose. You know where she's staying? Good. Well, I'll saygood-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 Igoing back to France for?"

"Why, now I come to think of it, " replied the Chief, "I nevertold 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 killedin action in France. I thought of making it a shell. But we'llhave it a machine gun bullet if you like. Whichever you prefer;it's all the same to me!"

He laughed at the dawn of enlightenment in Desmond's eyes. 

"I see, " said Desmond. 

"I hope you don't mind, " the Chief went on more seriously, "but Iknow you have no people to consider except your brother and hiswife. She's in America, and Francis can't possibly hear about it. So you needn't worry on that score. Or do you?"

Desmond laughed. 

"No-o-o!" he said slowly, "but I'm rather young to die. Is itabsolutely necessary for me to disappear?"

"Absolutely!" responded the Chief firmly. 

"But how will we manage it?" asked Desmond. 

"Catch the leave-boat to-night and don't worry. You will receiveyour instructions in due course. "

"But whey shall I see you again?"

The Chief chuckled. 

"Depends entirely on yourself, Okewood, " he retorted. "Whenyou're through with your job, I expect. In the meantime, MissMackwayte will act between us. On that point also you will befully instructed. And now I must fly!"

"But I say, sir, " Desmond interposed hastily. "You haven't toldme what I am to do. What part am I to play in this businessanyway?"

"To-morrow, " said the Chief, buttoning up his goat, "you becomeMr. Basil Bellward!"

CHAPTER VIII. THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGE

A taxi was waiting in Pall Mall outside the club and Desmondhailed it, though secretly wondering what the driver would thinkof taking him out to Seven Kings. Rather to his surprise, the manwas quite affable, took the address of the house where Barbarawas staying with her friends and bade Desmond "hop in. "Presently, for the second time that day, he was heading for theMils End Road. 

As they zigzagged in and out of the traffic, Desmond's thoughtswere busy with the extraordinary mission entrusted to him. So hewas to sink his own identity and don that of an Anglo-Germanbusiness man, his appearance, accent, habits, everything. Thedifficulties of the task positively made him cold with fear. Theman must have relations, friends, business acquaintances whowould be sufficiently familiar with his appearance and manner topenetrate, at any rate in the long run, the most effectivedisguise. What did Bellward look like? Where did lie live? Howwas he, Desmond, to disguise himself to resemble him? And, aboveall, when this knotty problem of make-up had been settled, howwas he to proceed? What should be his first step to pick out fromamong all the millions of London's teeming populace the oneobscure individual who headed and directed this gang of spies?

Why hadn't he asked the Chief all these questions? What anannoying man the Chief was to deal with to be sure! All said anddone, what had he actually told Desmond? That there was a GermanSecret service organization spying on the movements of troops toFrance, that this man, Basil Bellward, who had been arrested, wasone of the gang and that the dancer, Nur-el-Din, was in some wayimplicated in the affair! And that was the extent of hisconfidence! On the top of all this fog of obscurity rested thedense cloud surrounding the murder of old Mackwayte with theunexplained, the fantastic, clue of that single hair pointingback to Nur-el-Din. 

Desmond consoled himself finally by saying that the would be abletoo get some light on his mission from Barbara Mackwayte, whom hejudged to be in the Chief's confidence. But here he was doomed todisappointment. Barbara could tell him practically nothing savewhat he already knew, that they were to work together in thisaffair. Like him, she was waiting for her instructions. 

Barbara received him in a neat little suburban drawing-room inthe house of her friends, who lived a few streets away from theMackwaytes. She was wearing a plainly-made black crepe de chinedress which served to accentuate the extreme pallor of her face, the only outward indication of the great shock she had sustained. She was perfectly calm and collected, otherwise, and she stoppedDesmond who would have murmured some phrases of condolence. 

"Ah, no, please, " she said, "I don't think I can speak about ityet. "

She pulled a chair over for him arid began to talk about theChief. 

"There's not the least need for you to worry, " she said with alittle woeful smile, like a sun-ray piercing a rain-cloud, "ifthe Chief says 'Go back to France and wait for instructions, ' youmay be sure that everything is arranged, and you will receiveyour orders in due course. So shall I. That's the Chief all over. Until you know him, you think he loves mystery for mystery'ssake. It isn't that at all. He just doesn't trust us. He trustsnobody!"

"But that hardly semis fair to us... " began Desmond. 

"It's merely a precaution, " replied Barbara, "the Chief takes norisks. I've not the least doubt that he has decided to tell younothing whatsoever about your part until you are firmly settledin your new role. I'm perfectly certain that every detail of yourpart has already been worked out. "

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

Barbara laughed. 

"The Chief has taught me a lot about judging men by their looks, "she said: "Personally, if I'd been in the Chief's places I shouldhave gone ahead without consulting you, too. "

The girl spoke with such directness that there was not the leastsuggestion of a compliment in her remark, but Desmond blushed tothe roots of his hair. Barbara noticed it and added hastily:

"I'm not trying to pay you a compliment: I'm just judging by yourtype. I believe I can always tell the man that will take on anyjob, however dangerous, and carry it through to the end. "

Desmond blushed more furiously than ever. 

He made haste to divert the conversation into a safer channel. 

"Well, " he said slowly, "seeing that you and I were intended towork together, it seems to me to be a most extraordinarycoincidence our meeting like that last night... "

"It was more than a coincidence, " said Barbara, shaking her darkbrown head. "Forty-eight hours ago I'd never heard of you, thenthe Chief gave me a telegram to send to your Divisional Generalsummoning you home, after that he told me that we were to worktogether, and a few hours later I run into you in Nur-el-Din'sdressing-room... "

She broke off suddenly, her gray eyes big with fear. She dartedacross the room to an ormolu table as which her handbag waslying. With astonishment, Desmond watched her unceremoniouslyspill out the contents on to the table and rake hastily amongstthe collection of articles which a pretty girl carries round inher bag. 

Presently she raised herself erect and turning, faced theofficer. She was trembling as though with cold and when shespoke, her voice was low and husky. 

"Gone!" she whispered. 

"Have you lost anything" Desmond asked anxiously. 

"How could I have forgotten it?" she went on as though he had notspoken, "how could I have forgotten it? Nearly twelve hourswasted, and it explains everything. What will the Chief think ofme!"

Slowly she sank down on the sofa where she had been sitting, then, without any warning, dropped her head into her hands andburst into tears. 

Desmond went over to her. 

"Please don't cry, " he said gently, "you have borne up so bravelyagainst this terrible blow; you must try and not let it overwhelmyou. "

All her business-like calm had disappeared now she was that mostdistracting of all pictures of woman, a pretty girl overwhelmedwith grief. She crouched curled upon the sofa, with shouldersheaving, sobbing as though her heart would break. 

"Perhaps you would like me to leave you?" Desmond asked. "Let mering for your friends... I am sure you would rather be alone!"

She raised a tear-stained face to his, her long lashesglittering. 

"No, no, " she said, "don't go, don't go! I want your help. Thisis such a dark and dreadful business, more than I ever realized. Oh, my poor daddy, my poor daddy!"

Again she hid her face in her hands and cried whilst Desmondstood erect by her aide, compassionate but very helpless. 

After a little, she dabbed her eyes with a tiny square ofcambric, 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 mewhat has happened?"

"Why, " said Barbara, "it has only just dawned on me why our housewas broken into last night and poor daddy so cruelly murdered!Whoever robbed the house did not come after our poor little bitsof silver or daddy's savings in the desk in the dining room. Theycame 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'sdressing-room on the previous evening and of the package whichNur-el-Din had entrusted to her care. 

"This terrible business put it completely out of my head, " saidBarbara. "In the presence of the police this morning, I lookedover my bedroom and even searched my hand-bag which the policesent back to me this afternoon without finding that the burglarshad stolen anything. It was only just now, when we were talkingabout our meeting in Nur-el-Din's room last night, that herlittle package suddenly flashed across my mind. And then I lookedthrough my handbag again and convinced myself that it was notthere. "

"But are you sure the police haven't taken it?"

"Absolutely certain, " was the reply. "I remember perfectly whatwas in my hand-bag this morning when I went through it, and thesame 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 acigarette-box. Nur-el-Din said it was a treasured familypossession of hers, and she was afraid of losing it as shetraveled about so much. She asked me to say nothing about it andto keep it until the war was over or until she asked me for it. "

"Then, " said Desmond, "this clears Nur-el-Din!"

"What do you mean, " said Barbara, looking up. 

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

"But why on earth should Nur-el-Din be suspected of such athing?"

"Have you heard nothing about this young lady from the Chief?"

"Nothing. I had not thought anything about her until daddydiscovered an old friend in her last night and introduced me. "

The Chief's infernal caution again! thought Desmond, secretlyadmiring the care with which that remarkable man, in his ownphrase, "sealed both ends of every connection. "

"If I'm to work with this girl, " said Desmond to himself, "I'mgoing to have all the cards on the table here and now, " soforthwith he told her of the Chief's suspicions of the dancer, the letter recommending her to Bellward found when the cheesemerchant had been arrested, and lastly of the black hair whichhad been discovered on the thongs with which Barbara had beenfastened. 

"And now, " Desmond concluded, "the very next thing we must do isto go to the Chief and tell him about this package ofNur-el-Din's that is missing. " Barbara interposed quickly. 

"It's no use your coming, " she said. "The Chief won't see you. When he has sent a man on his mission, he refuses to see himagain until the work has been done. If he wishes to send for youor communicate with you, he will. But it's useless for you to tryand 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, howanyone could have known about your having this box ofNur-el-Din's. Was there anybody else in the room when she gaveyou the package?"

"No, " said Barbara, "I don't think so. Wait a minute, though, Nur-el-Din's maid must have come in very shortly after for Iremember the opened the door when Captain Strangwise came to tellme daddy was waiting to take me home. "

"Do you remember if Nur-el-Din actually mentioned the package inthe presence of the maid!"

"As far as I can recollect just as the maid opened the door toCaptain Strangwise, Nur-el-Din was impressing on me again to takegreat care of the package. I don't think she actually mentionedthe box but I remember her pointing at my bag where I had put thepackage. "

"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 wasonly just before Captain Strangwise knocked that I noticed Mariearranging Nur-el-Din's dresses. She must have come in afterwardswithout my seeing her. "

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

"Yes, and, of course, Captain Strangwise... "

"What about him?"

"He must have heard what Nur-el-Din was saying, too!"

Desmond rubbed his chin. 

"I say, you aren't going to implicate old Strangwise, too, areyou?" he asked. 

Barbara did not reflect his smile. 

"He seems to know Nur-el-Din pretty well, " she said, "and I'lltell you something else, that woman's afraid of your friend, theCaptain!"

"What do you mean?" asked Desmond. 

"I was watching her in the glass last night as he was talking toher while you and I and daddy were chatting in the corner. Idon't know what he said to her, but she glanced over her shoulderwith a look of terror in her eyes. I was watching her face in theglass. She looked positively hunted!"

The taxi stopped. Desmond jumped out and helped his companion toalight. 

"Au revoir. " she said to him, "never fear, you and I will meetvery soon again!"

With that she was gone. Desmond looked at his watch. It pointedto a quarter to six. 

"Now I wonder what time the leave-train starts tonight, " he saidaloud, 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-driverwho 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 thereare some things I want to get before I go back across theChannel. And I shall have to see the Railway Transport Officerabout my pass. "

"That's all right, sir, " said the taxi-man, "I have your papershere"; he handed Desmond a couple of slips of paper which he tookfrom his coat-pocket; "those will take yon back to France allright, I think you'll find!"

Desmond looked at the papers: they were quite in order andcorrectly 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 youwant to go, and then wait while you have your dinner and take youto the station. By the way, your dinner's ordered too!"

"But who the devil are you?" asked Desmond in amazement. 

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

Really, the Chief was extremely thorough. 

They went to the stores in the Haymarket, to Fortnum and Mason's, and lastly, to a small, grubby shop at the back of Mayfair whereDesmond and his brother had bought their cigarettes for yearspast. Desmond purchased a hundred of their favored brand, theDionysus, as a reserve for his journey back to France, and stoodchatting over old times with the fat, oily-faced Greek manager asthe latter tied up his cigarettes into a clean white paperparcel, neatly sealed up with red sealing wax. 

Then Desmond drove back to the Nineveh Hotel where he left histaxi-driving colleague in the courtyard on the understanding thatat 7. 25 the taxi would be waiting to drive him to the station. 

Desmond went straight upstairs to his room to put his kittogether. In the strong, firmly woven web spread by the Chief, hefelt as helpless as a fly caught in a spider's mesh. He had noidea of what his plans were. He only knew that he was going backto France, and that it was his business to get on the leave-boatthat night. 

As he passed along the thickly carpeted, silent corridor to hisroom, he saw the door of Strangwise's room standing ajar. Hepushed open the door and walked in unceremoniously. A suitcasestood open on the floor with Strangwise bending over it. At hiselbow was a table crowded with various parcels, a case of razors, different articles of kit, and some books. Desmond halted at thedoor, his box of cigarettes dangling from his finger. 

"Hullo, Maurice, " he said, "are you off, too?"

Strangwise spun round sharply. The blood had fished to his face, staining it with a dark, angry flush. 

"My God, how you startled me!" he exclaimed rather testily. "Inever heard you come in!"

He turned rather abruptly and went on with his packing. He struckDesmond as being rather annoyed at the intrusion; the latter hadnever seen him out of temper before. 

"Sorry if I butted in, " said Desmond, sliding his box ofcigarettes off his finger on to the littered table and sittingdown on a chair. "I came in to say good-bye. I'm going back toFrance to-night!"

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

"So soon?" he said. "Why, I thought you were getting a job at theWar Office!"

Desmond shook his head. 

"Not good enough, " he replied, "it's back to the sandbags formine. But where are you off to?"

"Got a bit of leave; the Intelligence folk seem to be throughwith 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 orsnipe on the fens. I wish you were coming with me!"

"So do I, old man, " echoed Desmond heartily. Then he added in aserious voice:

"By the way, I haven't seen you since last night. What a shockingaffair this is about old Mackwayte, isn't it? Are there anydevelopments, do you know?"

Strangwise very deliberately fished a cigarette out of his casewhich was lying open on the table and lit it before replying. 

"A very dark affair, " he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke andflicking the match into the grate. "You are discreet, I know, Okewood. The Intelligence people had me up this morning... Totake my evidence... "

Strangwise's surmise about Desmond's discretion was perfectlycorrect. With Desmond Okewood discretion was second nature, andtherefore he answered with feigned surprise: "Your evidence aboutwhat? About our meeting the Mackwaytes last night?"

After he had spoken he realized he had blundered. Surely, afterall, the Chief would have told Strangwise about theirinvestigations 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, "betweenourselves, I got rather struck on the lady when she was touringin Canada some years ago, and in fact I spent so much more moneythat I could afford on her that I had to discontinue theacquaintance. Then I met her here when I got away from Germany amonth 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 hiscigarette, "it appears that the lady is involved in certainactivities which considerably interest our Intelligence. Butthere, I mustn't say any more!"

"But how on earth is Nur-el-what's her name concerned in thismurder, Maurice?"

Strangwise shrugged his shoulders. 

"Ah, you'd better ask the police. But I tell you she'll begetting into trouble if she's not careful!"

Throughout this conversation Desmond seemed to hear in his earsBarbara's words: "That woman's afraid of your friend!" He divinedthat for some reason or other, Strangwise wanted to create a badimpression in his mind about the dancer. He scanned Maurice'sface narrowly. Its impenetrability was absolute. There wasnothing to be gleaned from those careless, smiling features. 

"Well, " said Desmond, getting up, "nous verrons. I shall have tomake 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. Mysalaams to the General!". 

They shook hands warmly, then Desmond grabbed his box ofcigarettes in its neat white wrapper with the bold red seals andhurried off to his room. 

Strangwise stood for a moment gazing after him. He was no longerthe frank, smiling companion of a minute before. His mouth wasset hard and his chin stuck out at a defiant angle. 

He bent over the table and picked up a white paper package sealedwith bold red seals. He poised it for a moment in his hands whilea flicker of a smile stole into the narrow eyes and played for aninstant round the thin lips. Then, with a quick movement, hethrust the little package into the side pocket of his tunic andbuttoned the flap. 

Whistling a little tune, he went on with his packing. 

CHAPTER IX. METAMORPHOSIS

It was a clear, cold night. A knife-edge icy wind blew from thenorth-east and kept the lanyards dismally flapping on theflag-mast over the customs house. The leave train lay in thestation within a biscuit's throw of the quayside and the black, blank Channel beyond, a long line of cheerfully illuminatedwindows that to those returning from leave seemed as the lastlink with home. 

The Corporal of Military Police, who stood at the gangwayexamining the passes, stopped Desmond Okewood as the latter heldout his pass into the rays of the man's lantern. 

"There was a message for you, sir, " said the Corporal. "Thecaptain of the Staff boat would h-esteem it a favor, sir, if youwould kindly go to his cabin immediately on h-arriving on board, sir!"

"Very good, Corporal!" answered the officer and passed up thegang plank, enviously regarded by the press of brass-hats andred-tabs who, for the most part, had a cramped berth below orcold quarters on deck to look forward to. 

A seaman directed Desmond to the Captain's cabin. It was builtout just behind the bridge, a snug, cheery room with brightchintz curtains over the carefully screened portholes, a coupleof comfortable benches with leather seats along the walls, asmall bunk, and in the middle of the floor a table set out with abottle of whiskey, a siphon and some glasses together with a boxof cigars. 

The Captain was sitting there chatting to the pilot, a short, enormously broad man with a magenta face and prodigious handswhich were folded round a smoking glass of toddy. 

"Pick 'em up? Rescue 'em?" the pilot ejaculated, as Desmondwalked in, "I'd let 'em sink, every man Jack o' them, theoutrageous murderin' scoundrels. I don't like to hear youa-talking of such nonsense, Cap'en!"

On Desmond's entrance the Captain broke off the conversation. Heproved to be a trimly-built man of about fifty with a grizzledbeard, and au air of quiet efficiency which is not uncommonlyfound in seamen. The pilot drained his glass and, scrambling tohis feet, nodded to Desmond and stumped out into the cold nightair. 

"Jawin' about the U boats!" said the Captain, with a jerk of hishead towards the cabin door, "I don't know what the feelings ofyour men in the trenches are towards Fritz, Major, but I tell youthat no German will dare set foot in any coast port of the UnitedKingdom in my life-time or yours, either! Accommodation's a bitnarrow on board. I thought maybe you'd care to spend the night uphere!"

"Any orders about me?" asked Desmond. 

The Captain went a shade deeper mahogany in the face. 

"Oh no, " he replied, with an elaborate assumption of innocence. "But won't you mix yourself a drink? And try one of my cigars, apresent from a skipper friend of mine who sailed into Tilburyfrom Manila last week. "

Desmond sat in the snug cabin, puffing a most excellent cigarand sipping his whiskey and soda while, amid much shouting ofseamen and screaming of windlasses, the staff boat got clear. Presently they were gliding past long low moles and black, inhospitable lighthouses, threading their way through the darkshapes of war craft of all kinds into the open Channel. There wasa good deal of swell, but the sea was calm, and the vessel soonsteadied down to regular rise and fall. 

They had been steaming for nearly an hour when, through the opendoor of the cabin, Desmond saw a seaman approach the captain onthe 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 sloweddown. The next moment the Captain appeared at the door of thecabin. 

"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 wirelessfrom the Admiral about you. "

"Where are they going to take me, do you know?" asked Desmond. 

The Captain shook his head. 

"I haven't an idea. I've only got to hand you over!"

He grinned and added:

"Where's your kit?"

"In the hold, I expect!" answered Desmond. "The porter atVictoria told me not to worry about it, and that I should find iton the other side. And, oh damn it!--I've got a hundredcigarettes in my kit, too! I bought them specially for thejourney!"

"Well, take some of my cigars, " said the skipper hospitably, "foryour traps'll have to go to France this trip, Major. There's notime to get 'em up now. I'll pass the word to the MilitaryLanding Officer over there about 'em, if you like. He'll takecare of 'em for you. Now will you come with me?"

Desmond scrambled into his coat and followed the Captain down thesteps to the deck. A little distance away from the vessel, thelong shape of a destroyer was dimly visible tossing to and fro inthe heavy swell. A ladder had been let down over the side of thesteamer, and at its foot a boat, manned by a number of heavilyswathed and muffled forms, was pitching. 

A few officers stood by the rail watching the scene withinterest. The skipper adroitly piloted Desmond past them andfairly thrust him out on to the ladder. 

Desmond took the hint and with a hasty "Good night" to thefriendly captain, staggered down the swaying ladder and washelped into the boat. The boat shoved off, the bell of the enginetelegraph on the steamer resounded sharply, and the vesselresumed her interrupted voyage whilst the rowing boat was headedtowards the destroyer. On board the latter vessel an officer metDesmond at the rail and piloted him to the ward-room. Almostbefore they got there, the destroyer was under way. 

The officer who had welcomed him proved to be the second incommand, a joyous person who did the honors of the tiny ward-roomwith the aplomb of a Commander in a super-Dreadnought. He mixedDesmond a drink and immediately started to converse about life atthe front without giving the other a chance of asking whitherthey were bound. 

The suspense was not of long duration, however, for in about halfan hour's time, the destroyer slowed down and Desmond's hostvanished. When he reappeared, it was to summon Desmond on deck. 

They lay aside a mole by some steps cut in the solid concrete. Here Desmond's host took leave of him. 

"There should be a car waiting for you up there, " he said. 

There on top of the mole, exposed to the keen blast of the wind, a large limousine was standing. A chauffeur, who looked blue withcold, got down from his seat as Desmond emerged from the stairsand touched his cap. 

"Major Okewood?" he asked. 

"That's my name!" said Desmond. 

"If you'll get in, sir, we'll start at once!" the man replied. 

Befogged and bewildered, Desmond entered the car, whichcautiously proceeded along the breakwater, with glimpses of blackwater and an occasional dim light on either hand. They bumpedover the railway-lines and rough cobblestones of a dockyard, glided through a slumbering town, and so gradually drew out intothe open country where the car gathered speed and fairly racedalong the white, winding road. Desmond had not the faintest ideaof their whereabouts or ultimate destination. He was fairlyembarked on the great adventure now, and he was philosophicallycontent to let Fate have its way with him. He found himselfwondering rather indolently what the future had in store. 

The car slowed down and the chauffeur switched the headlights on. Their blinding glare revealed some white gate-posts at theentrance of a quiet country station. Desmond looked at his watch. It was half-past one. The car stopped at the entrance to thebooking-office where a man in an overcoat and bowler was waiting. 

"This way, Major, please, " said the man in the bowler, and ledthe way into the dark and silent station. At the platform a shorttrain consisting of an engine, a Pullman car and a brakesman'svan stood, the engine under steam. By the glare from the furnaceDesmond recognized his companion. It was Matthews, the Chief'sconfidential clerk. 

Matthews held open the door of the Pullman for Desmond andfollowed him into the carriage. A gruff voice in the nightshouted:

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

In the corner of, the Pullman a table was laid for supper. Therewas a cold chicken, a salad, and a bottle of claret. On anothertable was a large tin box and a mirror with a couple of electriclights before it. At this table was seated a small man with grayhair studying a large number of photographs. 

"If you will have your supper, Major Okewood, sir, " saidMatthews, "Mr. Crook here will get to work. We've not got toomuch time. "

The sea air had made Desmond ravenously hungry. He sat downpromptly and proceeded to demolish the chicken and make havoc ofthe salad. Also he did full justice to the very excellent St. Estephe. 

As he ate he studied Matthews, who was one of those undefinableEnglishmen one meets in tubes and 'buses, who might be anythingfrom a rate collector to a rat catcher. He had sandy hairplastered limply across his forehead, a small moustache, and apair of watery blue eyes. Mr. Crook, who continued his study ofhis assortment of photographs without taking the slightest noticeof Desmond, was a much more alert looking individual, with ashock of iron gray hair brushed back and a small pointed beard. 

"Matthew's, " said Desmond as he supped, "would it be indiscreetto ask where we are?"

"In Kent, Major, " replied Matthews. 

"What station was that we started from?"

"Faversham. "

"And where are we going, might I inquire?"

"To Cannon Street, sir!"

"And from there?"

Mr. Matthews coughed discreetly. 

"I can't really say, sir, I'm sure! A car will meet you there andI 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 oneof the skipper's cigars. 

"That, sir, is Mr. Crook, who does any little jobs we require inthe way of make-up. Our expert on resemblances, if I may put itthat way, sir, for we really do very little in the way ofdisguises. Mr. Crook is an observer of what I may call people'spoints, sir, their facial appearance, their little peculiaritiesof manner, of speech, of gait. Whenever there is any question ofa disguise, Mr. Crook is called in to advise as to thepossibilities of success. I believe I am correct in saying, Crook, that you have been engaged on the Major here for sometime. Isn't it so?"

Crook looked up a minute from his table. 

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

"And what's your opinion about this disguise of mine?" Desmondasked him. 

"I can make a good job of you, Major, " said the expert, "and so Ireported to the Chief. You'll want to do your hair a bitdifferent and let your beard grow, and then, if you pay attentionto the lessons I shall give you, in a week or two, you'll be thischap here, " and he tapped the photograph in his hand, "to thelife. "

So saying he handed Desmond the photograph. It was the portraitof a man about forty years of age, of rather a pronouncedContinental type, with a short brown beard, a straight, ratherwell-shaped nose and gold-rimmed spectacles. His hair was cut enbrosse, and he was rather full about the throat and neck. Withouta word, Desmond stretched out his hand and gathered up a sheaf ofother photos, police photos of Mr. Basil Bellward, front face andprofile seen from right and left, all these poses shown on thesame picture, some snapshots and various camera studies. Desmondshook his head in despair. He was utterly unable to detect theslightest resemblance between himself and this rather commonplacelooking type of business man. 

"Now if you'd just step into the compartment at the end of thePullman, Major, " said Crook, "you'll find some civilian clotheslaid out. Would you mind putting them on? You needn't troubleabout the collar and tie, or coat and waistcoat for the moment. Then we'll get along with the work. "

The train rushed swaying on through the darkness. Desmond wasback in the Pullman car in a few minutes arrayed in a pair ofdark gray tweed trousers, a white shirt and black boots andsocks. A cut-away coat and waistcoat of the same tweed stuff, ablack bowler hat of rather an old-fashioned and staid pattern, and a black overcoat with a velvet collar, he left in thecompartment where he changed. 

He found that Crook had opened his tin box and set out a greatarray of grease paints, wigs, twists of tow of various colors, and a number of pots and phials of washes and unguents togetherwith a whole battery of fine paint brushes. In his hand he held apair of barber's clippers and the tips of a comb and a pair ofscissors protruded from his vest pocket. 

Crook whisked a barber's wrap round Desmond and proceeded, withclippers and scissors, to crop and trim his crisp black hair. 

"Tst-tst" he clicked with his tongue. "I didn't realize your hairwas so dark, Major. It'll want a dash of henna to lighten it. "

The man worked with incredible swiftness. His touch was light andsure, and Desmond, looking at his reflection in the glass, wondered to see what fine; delicate hands this odd little expertpossessed. Matthews sat and smoked in silence and watched theoperation, whilst the special ran on steadily Londonwards. 

When the clipping was done, Crook smeared some stuff on a toweland wrapped it round Desmond's head. 

"That'll brighten your hair up a lot, sir. Now for a crepe beardjust to try the effect. We've got to deliver you at Cannon Streetready for the job, Mr. Matthews and me, but you won't want toworry with this nasty messy beard once you get indoors. You cangrow your own beard, and I'll pop in and henna it a bit for youevery now and then. "

There was the smart of spirit gum on Desmond's cheeks and Crookgently applied a strip of tow to his face. He had taken themirror away so that Desmond could no longer see the effect of thegradual metamorphosis. 

"A mirror only confuses me, " said the expert, breathing hard ashe delicately adjusted the false beard, "I've got this picturefirm 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 speakaltogether. He finished the beard, trimmed the eyebrows, applieda dash of henna with a brush, leaning backwards continually tosurvey the effect. He sketched in a wrinkle or two round the eyeswith a pencil, wiped them out, then put them in again. Then hefumbled in his tin box, and produced two thin slices of greyrubber. 

"Sorry, " he said, "I'm afraid you'll have to wear these insideyour cheeks to give the effect of roundness. You've got an ovalface and the other man has a round one. I can get the fullness ofthe throat by giving you a very low collar, rather open and asize too large for you. "

Desmond obediently slipped the two slices of rubber into hismouth and tucked them away on either side of his upper row ofteeth. They were not particularly uncomfortable to wear. 

"There's your specs, " said Crook, handing him a spectacle case, "and there's the collar. Now if you'll put on the rest of theduds, 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'reforty-three years of age with a Continental upbringing. You'llhave to walk like a German, toes well turned out and down on theheel every time. So, that's better. Now, have a look atyourself!"

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

Desmond recoiled in astonishment. He could scarcely credit hisown eyes. The glass must be bewitched, he thought for a moment, quite overwhelmed by the suddenness of the shock. For instead ofthe young face set on a slight athletic body that the glass waswont to show him, he saw a square, rather solid man in ugly, heavy clothes, with a brown silky beard and gold spectacles. Thedisguise was baffling in its completeness. The little wizard, whohad effected this change and who now stood by, bashfully twistinghis fingers about, had transformed youth into middle age. And thebewildering thing was that the success of the disguise did notlie so much in the eternal adjuncts, the false beard, thepencilled wrinkles, as in the hideous collar, the thick paddedclothes, in short, in the general appearance. 

For the first time since his talk with the Chief at the UnitedService Club, Desmond felt his heart grow light within him. Ifsuch miracles were possible, then he could surmount the otherdifficulties 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, " answeredthe 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 Imust say the Major carries it off very well. But how goes theenemy, Matthews?"

"It's half past two, " replied, the latter, "we should reachCannon Street by three. She's running well up to time, I think. "

"We've got time for a bit of a rehearsal, " said Crook. "Justwatch me, will you please, Major, and I'll try and give you animpression of our friend. I've been studying him at Brixton forthe past twelve days, day and night almost, you might say, and Ithink I can convey an idea of his manner and walk. The walk is avery important point. Now, here is Mr. Bellward meeting one ofhis friends. Mr. Matthews, you will be the friend!"

Then followed one of the most extraordinary performances thatDesmond had ever witnessed. By some trick of the actor's art, theshriveled figure of the expert seemed to swell out and thicken, while his low, gentle voice deepened into a full, metallicbaritone. Of accent in his speech there was none, but Desmond'sear, trained to foreigners' English, could detect a slightContinental intonation, a little roll of the "r's, " an unfamiliarsound about those open "o's" of the English tongue, which are sofatal a trap for foreigners speaking our language. As he watchedCrook, Desmond glanced from time to time at the photograph ofBellward which he had picked up from the table. He had anintuition that Bellward behaved and spoke just as the man beforehim. 

Then, at Crook's suggestion, Desmond assumed the role ofBellward. The expert interrupted him continually. 

"The hands, Major, the hands, you must not keep them down at yoursides. That is military! You must move them when you speak! Soand 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 foryou. You are poised and getting a trifle ponderous. Now tryagain!"

But the train was slackening speed. They were running betweenblack masses of squalid houses. As the special thumped over thebridge across the river, Mr. Crook gathered up his paints andbrushes and photographs and arranged them neatly in his black tinbox. 

To Desmond he said:

"I shall be coming along to give you some more lessons very soon, Major. I wish you could see Bellward for yourself: you are veryapt at this game, and it would save us much time. But I fearthat's impossible. "

Even before the special had drawn up alongside the platform atCannon Street, Crook and Matthews swung themselves out anddisappeared. When the train stopped, a young man in a bowler hatpresented himself at the door of the Pullman. 

"The car is there, Mr. Bellward, sir!" he said, helping Desmondto alight. Desmond, preparing to assume his new role, was aboutto leave the carriage when a sudden thought struck him. Whatabout his uniform strewn about the compartment where he hadchanged? He ran back. The compartment was empty. Not a traceremained of the remarkable scenes of their night journey. 

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

Outside the station a motor-car with its noisy throbbing awokethe echoes of the darkened and empty courtyard. Desmond waiteduntil he was being whirled over the smooth asphalt of the Citystreets before he opened the letter. 

He found a note and a small key inside the envelope. 

"On reaching the house to which you will be conveyed, " the notesaid, "you will remain indoors until further orders. You candevote your time to studying the papers you will find in the deskbeside the bed. For the present you need not fear detection aslong as you do not leave the house. " Then followed a few roughjottings obviously for his guidance. 

"Housekeeper, Martha, half blind, stupid; odd man, John Hill, mostly invisible, no risk from either. You are confined to housewith 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 andobscured the stars and a drizzle of rain was falling. The carwent forward at a good pace and Desmond, after one or twoineffectual attempts to make out where they were going, waslulled by the steady motion into a deep sleep. He was dreamingfitfully of the tossing Channel as he had seen it but a few hoursbefore when he came to his senses with a start. He felt a colddraught 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 hecould distinguish nothing, but he felt the grit of gravel underhis feet and he heard the melancholy gurgle of running water. Hetook a step forward and groped his way into a little porchsmelling horribly of mustiness and damp. As he did so, he heard awhirr behind him and the car began to glide off. Desmond shoutedafter the chauffeur. Now that he stood on the very threshold ofhis adventure, he wanted to cling desperately to this last linkwith his old self. But the chauffeur did not or would not hear, and presently the sound of the engine died away, leaving Desmondto the darkness, the sad splashing of distant water and his ownthoughts. 

And then, for one brief moment, all his courage seemed to oozeout of him. If he had followed his instinct, he would have turnedand fled into the night, away from that damp and silent house, away from the ceaseless splashing of waters, back to the warmthand lights of civilization. But his sense of humor, which is veryoften better than courage, came to his rescue. 

"I suppose I ought to be in the devil of a rage, " he said tohimself, "being kept waiting like this outside my own house!Where the deuce is my housekeeper? By Gad, I'll ring the placedown!"

The conceit amused him, and he advanced further into the mustyporch hoping to find a bell. But as he did so his ear caught thedistant sound of shuffling feet. The shuffle of feet drew nearerand presently a beam of light shone out from under the door. Aquavering voice called out:

"Here I am, Mr. Bellward, here I am, sir!"

Then a bolt was drawn back, a key turned, and the door swungslowly back, revealing an old woman, swathed in a long shawl andholding high in her hand a lamp as she peered out into thedarkness. 

"Good evening, Martha, " said Desmond, and stepped into the house. 

Save for Martha's lamp, the lobby was in darkness, but light wasstreaming into the hall from the half open door of a room leadingoff it at the far end. While Martha, wheezing asthmatically, bolted the front door, Desmond went towards the room where thelight was and walked in. 

It was a small sitting-room, lined with bookshelves, illuminatedby an oil lamp which stood on a little table beside achintz-covered settee which had been drawn up in front of thedying fire. 

On the settee Nur-el-Din was lying asleep. 

CHAPTER X. D. O. R. A. IS BAFFLED

When Barbara reached the Chief's ante-room she found it full ofpeople. Mr. Marigold was there, chatting with Captain Strangwisewho seemed to be just taking his leave; there was a short, fat, Jewish-looking man, very resplendently dressed with a largediamond pin in his cravat and a small, insignificant lookinggentleman with a gray moustache and the red rosette of the Legionof Honor in his button-hole. Matthews came out of the Chief'sroom 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 mindabout 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 tosee him, Miss, and he's got a dinner engagement at eight... "

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

"Miss Mackwayte, I daren't interrupt him now. Do you know who'swith him... ?"

Strangwise crossed the room to where Barbara was standing. 

"I can guess what brings you here, Miss Mackwayte, " he saidgently. "I hope you will allow me to express my condolences... ?"

The girl shrank back, almost imperceptibly, yet Strangwise, whoseeyes were fixed on her pale face, noticed the spontaneous recoil. The sunshine seemed to fade out of his debonair countenance, andfor a moment Barbara Mackwayte saw Maurice Strangwise as very fewpeople had ever seen him, stern and cold and hard, without avestige of his constant smile. But the shadow lifted as quicklyas it had fallen. His face had resumed its habitually engagingexpression as he murmured:

"Believe me, I am truly sorry for you!"

"Thank you, thank you!" Barbara said hastily and brushed pasthim. She walked straight across the room to the door of theChief's room, turned the handle and walked in. 

The room was in darkness save for an electric reading lamp on thedesk which threw a beam of light on the faces of two men thrustclose together in eager conversation. One was the Chief, theother a face that Barbara knew well from the illustrated papers. 

At the sound of the door opening, the Chief sprang to his feet. 

"Oh, it's Miss Mackwayte, " he said, and added something in a lowvoice to the other man who had risen to his feet. "My dear, " hecontinued aloud to Barbara, "I will see you immediately; we mustnot be disturbed now. Matthews should have told you. "

"Chief, " cried Barbara, her hands clasped convulsively together, "you must hear me now. What I have to say cannot wait. Oh, youmust hear me!"

The Chief looked as embarrassed as a man usually looks when he isappealed to in a busy moment by an extremely attractive girl. 

"Miss Mackwayte, " he said firmly but with great courtesy, "youmust wait outside. I know how unnerved you are by all that youhave gone through, but I am engaged just now. I shall be freepresently. "

"It is about my father, Chief, " Barbara said in a tremblingvoice, "I have found out what they came to get!"

"Ah!" said the Chief and the other man simultaneously. 

"We had better hear what she has to say!" said the other man, "but won't you introduce me first?"

"This is Sir Bristowe Marr, the First Sea Lord, " said the Chief, bringing up a chair for Barbara, "Miss Mackwayte, my secretary, Admiral!"

Then in a low impassioned voice Barbara told her tale of thepackage entrusted to her by Nur-el-Din and its disappearance fromher bedroom on the night of the murder. As she proceeded a deepfurrow appeared between the Chief's bushy eyebrows and he staredabsently at the blotting-pad in front of him. When the girl hadfinished her story, the Chief said:

"Lambelet ought to hear this, sir: he's the head of the FrenchIntelligence, you know. He's outside now. Shall we have him in?Miss Mackwayte shall tell her story, and you can then hear whatLambelet has to say about this versatile young dancer. "

Without waiting for further permission, he pressed a bell on thedesk and presently Matthews ushered in the small man with theLegion of Honor whom Barbara had seen in the ante-room. 

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

"Colonel Lambelet speaks English perfectly, " he said, "so fireaway 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 inher movements, mon cher. She seized the opportunity of thismeeting with the daughter of her old friend to get rid ofsomething compromising, a code or something of the kind, quisait? Perhaps this robbery and its attendant murder was only anelaborate device to pass on some particularly important report ofthe movements of your ships... Qui sait?"

"Then you are convinced in your own mind, Colonel, that thiswoman is a spy?" The clear-cut voice of the First Sea Lord rangout of the darkness of the room outside the circle of light onthe desk. 

"Mail certainement!" replied the Frenchman quietly. "Listen andyou shall hear! By birth she is a Pole, from Warsaw, of good, perhaps, even, of noble family. I cannot tell you, for her realname we have not been able to ascertain... Parbleu, it isimpossible, 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 themselvesThe Seven Duponts. With this troupe she toured all over Europe. Bien! About ten years ago, she went out to New York as a singer, under the name of Marcelle Blondinet, and appeared at varioussecond-class theatres in the United States and Canada. Then welose track of her for some years until 1913, the year before thewar, when the famous Oriental dancer, Nur-el-Din, who has made agrand success by the splendor of her dresses in America andCanada, appears at Brussels, scores a triumph and buys a finemansion in the outskirts of the capital. She produces herself atParis, Bordeaux, Lyons, Marseilles, Madrid, Milan and Rome, buther home in Brussels, always she returns there, your understandme, hein? La petite Marcelle of The Seven Duponts, MarcelleBlondinet of the cafe chantant, has blossomed out into a star ofthe first importance. "

The Colonel paused and cleared his throat. 

"To buy a mansion in Brussels, to run a large and splendidtroupe, requires money. It is the men who pay for these things, you would say. Quite right, but listen who were the friends ofMadame Nur-el-Din. Bischoffsberg, the German millionaire ofAntwerp, von Wurzburg, of Berne... Ah ha! you know thatgentleman, mon cher?" he turned, chuckling, to the Chief whonodded his acquiescence; "Prince Meddelin of the German Embassyin Paris and administrator of the German Secret Service funds inFrance, and so on and so on. I will not fatigue you with thelist. The direct evidence is coming now. 

"When the war broke out in August, 1914, Madame, after finishingher summer season in Brussels, was resting in her Brusselsmansion. What becomes of her? She vanishes. "

"She told Samuel, the fellow who runs the Palaceum, that sheescaped 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 theAdmiral, "she escaped to Metz, the headquarters of the Army Groupcommanded by the... The... How do you say? the Prince Imperial?"

"The Crown Prince, " rectified the Chief. 

"Ah, oui, --the Crown Prince. Messieurs, we have absolutetestimony that this woman lived for nearly two years either inMetz or Berlin, and further, that at Metz, the Crown Prince was aconstant visitor at her house. She was one of the ladies whonearly precipitated a definite rupture between the Crown Princeand his wife. Mon Admiral, " he went on, addressing the First SeaLord again, "that this woman should be at large is a direct menaceto the security of this country and of mine. It is only thismorning that I at length received from Paris the facts which Ihave just laid before you. It is for you to order your actionaccordingly!"

The little Frenchman folded his arms pompously and gazed at theceiling. 

"How does she explain her movements prior to her coming to thiscountry" 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 storyfrom him, " he said. 

Samuel entered, exuding business acumen, prosperity, geniality. He nodded brightly to the Chief and stood expectant. 

"Ah, Mr. Samuel, " said the Chief, "I wanted to see you aboutNur-el-Din. You remember our former conversation on the subject. Where did she say she went to when she escaped to Brussels?"

"First to Ostend, " replied the music-hall proprietor, "and then, when the general exodus took place from there, to her mother'scountry place near Lyons, a village called Sermoise-aux-Roses. "

"And what did she say her mother's name was?"

"Madame Blondinet, sir!"

The Frenchman rapped smartly on a little pocketbook which he hadproduced and now held open in his hand. 

"There, is a Madame Blondinet who has a large farm nearSermoise-aux-Roses, " he said, "and she has a daughter calledMarcelle, who went to America. "

"Why then... ?" began the First Sea Lord. 

"Attendez un instant!"

The Colonel held up a plump hand. 

"Unfortunately for Madame Nur-el-Din, this Marcelle Blondinetspent the whole of her childhood, in fact, the whole of her lifeuntil she was nineteen years of age, on her mother's farm at atime when this Marcelle Blondinet was touring Europe with TheSeven Duponts. The evidence is absolute. Mademoiselle here heardthe dancer herself confirm it last night!"

"Thank you, Mr. Samuel, " said the Chief, "we shan't require youany more. But I'm afraid your Nur-el-Din will have to break hercontract with you. "

"She's done that already, sir!" said Samuel ruefully. 

The Chief sprang to his feet excitedly. 

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

Mr. Samuel looked startled out of his life. 

"There was a bit of a row between her and the stage manager lastnight about her keeping the stage waiting again, " he said; "andafter lunch today she rang up to say she would not appear at thePalaceum to-night or any more at all! It's very upsetting for us;and I don't mind telling you, gentlemen, that I've been to mysolicitors about it... "

"And why the blazes didn't you come and tell me?" demanded theChief furiously. 

"Well, sir, I thought it was only a bit of pique on her part, andI hoped to be able to talk the lady round. I know what thesestars are!"

"You've seen her then?" the Chief snapped out. 

"No, I haven't!" Mr. Samuel lamented. "I've been twice to theNineveh--that's where she's stopping--and each time she was out!"

The Chief dismissed him curtly. 

When the door had closed behind him, the Chief said to the FirstSea Lord:

"This is where D. O. R. A. Steps in, I think, sir!"

"Decidedly!" replied the Admiral. "Will you take the necessarysteps?"

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 aprivate line. "

He listened at the receiver for a couple of minutes. The room wasvery still. 

"All right, come to the office at once!"

The Chief hung up the receiver and turned to the Admiral. 

"She's given us the slip for the moment!" he said. "That wasGordon speaking. He and Duff have been shadowing our lady friendout of doors for days. She left the hotel on foot after lunchthis afternoon with my two fellows in her wake. There was a bitof a crush on the pavement near Charing Cross and Duff was pushedinto the roadway and run over by a motor-'bus. In the confusionGordon lost the trail. He's wasted all this time trying to pickit up again instead of reporting to me at once. "

"Zut!" cried the Frenchman. 

CHAPTER XI. CREDENTIALS

The sight of Nur-el-Din filled Desmond with alarm. For a momenthis mind was overshadowed by the dread of detection. He hadforgotten all about Mr. Crook's handiwork in the train, and hisimmediate fear was that the dancer would awake and recognize him. But then he caught sight of his face in the mirror over themantelpiece. The grave bearded man staring oddly at him out ofthe glass gave him a shock until he realized the metamorphosisthat had taken place in his personality. The realization servedinstantly to still his apprehension. 

Nur-el-Din lay on her side, one hand under her face which wasturned away from the fire. She was wearing a big black musquashcoat, 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, wasskewered with a couple of jewelled hatpins to the upholstery ofthe settee. 

Desmond watched her for a moment. Her face looked drawn and tirednow that her eyelids, with their long sweeping black lashes, wereclosed, shutting off the extraordinary luminosity of her eyes. Ashe stood silently contemplating her, she stirred and moaned inher sleep and muttered some word three or four times to herself. Desmond was conscious of a great feeling of compassion for thisstrangely beautiful creature. Knowing as he did of thehundred-eyed monster of the British Secret Service that waswatching her, he found himself thinking how frail, how helpless, how unprotected she looked, lying there in the flickering lightof the fire. 

A step resounded behind him and old Martha shuffled into theroom, carefully shading the lamp she still carried so that itsrays should not fall on the face of the sleeper. 

"I don't know as I've done right, sir, " she mumbled, "letting thepore lady wait here for you like this, but I couldn't hardly helpit, sir! She says as how she must see you, and seeing as how yourfirst tellygram said you was coming at half-past nine, I lets herstop on!"

"When did she arrive" asked Desmond softly. 

"About six o'clock, " answered the old, woman. "Walked all the wayup from Wentfield Station, too, sir, and that cold she was whenshe 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. Sheasks after you and I tells her as how you are away and won't beback till this evening. 'Oh!' she says, I then I wait!' And inshe 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 seeher, 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 wassorely perplexed as to his next move. Obviously the girl couldnot stay in the house. What on earth did she want with him? Andcould he, at any rate, get at the desk and read the papers ofwhich the note spoke and which, he did not doubt, were thedossier of the Bellward case, before she awoke? They might, atleast, throw some light on his relations with the dancer. 

"She had her dinner here by the fire, " old Martha resumed hernarrative, "and about a quarter past nine comes your secondtellygram, sir, saying as how you could not arrive till fiveo'clock in the morning. "

Desmond glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. The handspointed to a quarter past five! He had lost all count of the timein his peregrinations of the night. 

"I comes in here and tells the young lady as how you wouldn't beback last night, sir, " the old woman continued, "and she says, 'Oh, ' she says, 'then, where shall I go?' she says. 'Why don'tyou go home, my dear?' says I, 'and pop round and see the masterin the morning, ' I says, thinking the pore young lady lives abouthere. And then she tells me as how she come all the way fromLunnon and walked up from the station. As well you know, sir, thelast train up leaves Wentfield Station at five minutes to nine, and so the pore young lady couldn't get back that night. So hereshe had to stop. I got the spare room ready for her and lit anice fire and all, but she wouldn't go to bed not until she hadseen you. I do hope as how I've not done wrong, sir. I says toMr. Hill, I says... "

Desmond held up his hand to restrain her toothless babble. Nur-el-Din had stirred and was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. Thenshe caught sight of Desmond and scrambled rather unsteadily toher feet. 

"Monsieur Bellward?" she said in French, "oh, how glad I am tosee you!"

"All right, Martha, " said Desmond, "see that the spare room isready for this lady, and don't go to bed just yet. I shall wantyou to take this lady to her room. "

The old woman hobbled away, leaving the two alone. As soon as thedoor 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 thatname! I am Madame Le Bon, you, understand, a Belgian refugee, from Termonde!"

Rather taken aback by her imperious manner, Desmond bowed againbut said nothing. 

"I received your letter, " the dancer resumed, "but I did notanswer it as I did not require your assistance. But now I wishyour help. It is unfortunate that you were absent from home atthe 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 behere for several days. They are becoming inconvenient in London, you understand. "

"But the theatre, your professional engagements?"

"Bah, I have left the theatre. I have had enough of these stupidEnglish people... They know nothing of art!"

Desmond reflected a moment. Nur-el-Din's manner was mostperplexing. What on earth could induce her to adopt this tone ofcondescension towards him? It nettled him. He resolved to try andfind out on what it was based. 

"I am only too happy to be of assistance to you, " he said, "especially in view of the letter of introduction you sent me, but I must tell you plainly that what you ask is impossible. "

"Impossible?" repeated Nur-el-Din, stamping her feet. "Impossible? Do you know what you are saying?"

"Perfectly, " replied Desmond negligently. "Obviously, you muststay here for the rest of the night since you cannot return toLondon until the trains start running, but to stay hereindefinitely as you propose to do is out of the question. Peoplewould talk!"

"Then it is your business to see that they don't!"

"Your letter of introduction came from one whom I am alwaysanxious to oblige, " Desmond went on. "But the service he isauthorized to claim from me does not entitle him to jeopardize myother activities. "

He drew a breath. It was a long shot. Would it draw her?

It did. Nur-el-Din fumbled in her bag, produced a leatherpocket-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 Germanmilitary field messages. "Meldedienst" (Message Service) wasprinted in German at the top and there were blanks to be filledin for the date, hour and place, and at the bottom a printed formof acknowledgment for the recipient to sign. 

In a large ostentatious, upright German handwriting was writtenwhat follows:

"To All Whom it May Concern. 

"The lady who is the bearer of this, whose description is set outoverleaf, is entitled to the full respect and assistance of theGerman forces on land and sea and in the air, wherever it may be. Her person and property are inviolate. 

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

Across the signature was the impress of a green stamp, lozenge-shaped, inscribed "Headquarters of the Fifth Army, General Staff, 21st September, 1914. "

On the back of the slip was a detailed description of Nur-el-Din. 

Desmond bowed and handed the paper back to its owner. 

"Madame must accept my humble excuses, " he murmured, hardlyknowing what he was saying, so great was his surprise, "my houseand services are at Madame's disposal!"

"The other letter was from Count Plettenbach, the Prince'sA. D. C. , whom I think you know!" added the dancer in a mollifiedvoice as she replaced the slip of paper in its pocketbook andstowed it away in her hand-bag. Then, looking up archly atDesmond, 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-shapedopening of her white silk blouse. Her mouth was a perfect cupid'sbow, the upper lip slightly drawn up over her dazzlingly whiteteeth. Before Desmond could answer her question, if answer wereneeded, her mood had swiftly changed again. She put her hand out, a little brown hand, and laying it on his shoulder, looked upappealingly into his eyes. 

"You will protect me, " she said in a low voice, "I cannot bearthis hunted life. From this side, from that, they, are closing inon me, and I am frightened, so very frightened. Promise you willkeep me from harm!"

Desmond gazed down into her warm, expressive eyes helplessly. What she asked was impossible, he knew, but he was a soldier, nota policeman, he told himself, and under his breath he cursed theChief for landing him in such a predicament. To Nur-el-Din hesaid 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 embersof 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 toa hard life. No, it is not the police!"

"Who is it, then" asked Desmond, completely nonplused. 

Nur-el-Din let her eyes rest on his face for a moment. 

"You have honest eyes, " she said, "your eyes are not German... Pardon me, I would not insult your race... I mean they aredifferent from the rest of you. One day, perhaps, those eyes ofyours may persuade me to answer your question. But I don't knowyou well enough yet!"

She broke off abruptly, shaking her head. 

"I am tired, " she sighed and all her haughty manner returned, "let the old woman show me to my room. I will take dejeuner withyou at one o'clock. "

Desmond bowed and stepping out into the hall, called thehousekeeper. Old Martha shuffled off with the girl, leavingDesmond staring with vacant eyes into the fire. He was consciousof a feeling of exultation, despite his utter weariness andcraving for sleep. This girl, with her queenly ways, her swiftlychanging moods, her broad gusts of passion, interested himenormously. If she were the quarry, why, then, the chase wereworth while! But the end? For a brief moment, he had a vision ofthat frail, clinging figure swaying up against some blank wallbefore a file of levelled rifles. 

Then again he seemed to see old Mackwayte lying dead on thelanding of the house at Seven Kings. Had this frail girl donethis unspeakable deed? To send her to the gallows or before afiring-squad--was this to be the end of his mission? And thestill, small voice of conscience answered: "Yes! that is whatyou have come here to do!"

Old Martha came shuffling down the staircase. Desmond called toher, 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 besure that the sheets are not damp!"

So saying he extinguished the lamp on the table and followed theold woman upstairs. 

CHAPTER XII. AT THE MILL HOUSE

Clad in a suit of Mr. Basil Bellward's pyjamas of elaborateblue-flowered silk, Desmond lay propped up in bed in Mr. Bellward's luxuriously fitted bedroom, sipping his morningcoffee, and studying with absorbed interest a sheet of bluefoolscap. A number of papers lay strewn about the eiderdownquilt. At the head of the bed a handsome Sheraton bureau stoodopen. 

As the French say, Mr. Bellward had refused himself nothing. Hisbedroom was most tastefully furnished. The furniture wasmahogany, every piece carefully chosen, and the chintz ofcurtains and upholstery was bright and attractive. A mostelaborate mahogany wardrobe was fitted into the wall, andDesmond, investigating it, had found it to contain a very largeassortment of clothes of every description, all new or nearly so, and bearing the name of a famous tailor of Cork Street. Foldingdoors, resembling a cupboard, disclosed, when open, a marblebasin with hot water laid on, while a curtained door in thecorner of the room gave access to a white tiled bathroom. Mr. Bellward, Desmond had reflected after his tour of the room on hisarrival, evidently laid weight on his personal comfort; for thecontrast between the cheerful comfort of his bedroom and themusty gloom of the rooms downstairs was very marked. 

A bright log fire hissed on the open hearth and the room waspleasantly warm. Old Martha's coffee was excellent, and Desmond, very snug in Mr. Bellward's comfortable bed, noted with regretthat the clock on the mantel-shelf marked a quarter to twelve. But then he thought of the tete-a-tete luncheon that awaited himat one o'clock and his face cleared. He didn't mind getting up somuch 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 thebed. They were enclosed in two envelopes, one large, the othersmall, both without any superscription. The large envelopeenclosed Mr. Bellward's dossier which consisted of a fairlydetailed account of his private life, movements, habits andfriends, and an account of his arrest. The small envelopecontained Desmond's eagerly expected orders. 

Desmond examined the papers in the large envelope first. Fromthem he ascertained that the house in which he found himself wascalled The Mill House, and was situated two and a half miles fromthe station of Wentfield on the Great Eastern Railway in Essex. Mr. Bellward had taken the place some eight years before, havingmoved there from the Surrey hills, but had been wont to spend notmore than two months in the year there. For the rest of the timehe traveled abroad, usually passing the winter months on theRiviera, and the spring in Switzerland or Italy. The war hadbrought about a change in his habits, and Harrogate, Buxton andBath had taken the place of the Continental resorts which he hadfrequented in peace time. 

When in residence at The Mill House, Mr. Bellward had gone up toLondon nearly every morning, either walking or going bymotor-cycle to the station, and not returning until dinner-timein the evening. Sometimes he passed the night in London, and onsuch occasions slept at a small hotel in Jermyn Street. Hisdossier included, a long and carefully compiled list of thepeople he knew in London, mostly men of the rich business set, stockbrokers, manufacturers, solicitors, and the like. Againstevery name was set a note of the exact degree of intimacyexisting between Bellward and the man in question, and any otherinformation that might serve Bellward's impersonator in goodstead. Desmond laid this list aside for the moment, intending tostudy it more closely at his leisure. 

Of intercourse with his neighbors in, the country, Mr. Bellwardapparently had none. The Mill House stood in a lonely part of thecountry, remote from the more thickly populated centres ofBrentwood and Romford, on the edge of a wide tract ofinhospitable marshland, known as Morstead Fen, intersected bythose wide deep ditches which in this part of the world are knownas dykes. At this stage in the report there was a note to theeffect that the rector of Wentfield had called twice at The MillHouse but had not found Mr. Bellward at home, and that his visitshad not been returned. There were also some opinions apparentlyculled locally regarding the tenant of the Mill House, set outsomething in this wise:--

"Landlord of the Red Lion, Wentfield: The gentleman has neverbeen to the Red Lion, but sometimes orders my Ford car and alwayspays regularly. 

"The Stationmaster at Wentfield: A gentleman who keeps himself tohimself but very liberal with his money. 

"Sir Marsham Dykes, of The Chase, Stanning: A damned unsociablechurlish fellow. 

"Mr. Tracy Wentfield, of the Channings, Home Green: A very rudeman. He slammed the front door of the house in my face when Iwent to ask him for a contribution to our Cottage Hospital. It isnot my habit to repeat idle gossip, but they do say he is a heavydrinker. "

There was a lot more of this sort of thing, and Desmond turnedfrom it with a smile to take up the account of Bellward's arrest. It appeared that, about a fortnight before, on the eve of thedeparture for France of a very large draft of troops, a telegramwas handed in at the East Strand telegraph office addressed toBellward. This telegram ran thus:

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

The authorities were unable to deliver this telegram as nosuch an hotel as the Hotel Bellward was found to exist in JermynStreet. An examination of the address showed clearly that thesender had absent mindedly repeated the addressee's name inwriting the name of the hotel. An advice was therefore addressedto the sender, Mortimer, at the address he had given on the backof the form, according to the regulations, to inform him that histelegram had not been delivered. It was then discovered that theaddress given by Mortimer was fictitious. 

Suspicion being thus aroused, the telegram was forwarded to thePostal Censor's department whence it reached the IntelligenceAuthorities who promptly spotted the connection between thewording of the telegram and the imminent departure of the drafts, more especially as the dates tallied. Thereupon, Mr. Bellward washunted up and ultimately traced by his correspondence to The MillHouse. He was not found there, but was eventually encountered athis London hotel, and requested to appear before the authoritieswith a view to throwing some light on Mortimer. Undercross-examination Bellward flatly denied any knowledge ofMortimer, and declared that a mistake had been made. He citedvarious well known city men to speak for his bona-fides andprotested violently against the action of the authorities indoubting his word. It was ultimately elicited that Bellward wasof German birth and had never been naturalized, and he wasdetained in custody while a search was made at The Mill House. 

The search was conducted with great discretion, old Martha beinggot out of the way before the detectives arrived and a carefulwatch being kept to avoid any chance of interruption. The searchhad the most fruitful results. Hidden in a secret drawer of theSheraton desk in Bellward's bedroom, was found a most elaborateanalysis of the movements of the transports to France, extremelyaccurate and right up to date. There was absolutely noindication, however, as to whence Bellward received his reports, and how or to whom he forwarded them. It was surmised thatMortimer was his informant, but an exhaustive search of the postoffice files of telegrams despatched showed no trace of any othertelegram from Mortimer to Bellward save the one in the possessionof the authorities. As for Mortimer, he remained a completeenigma. 

That, summarised, was the gist of the story of Bellward's arrest. The report laid great stress on the fact that no one outside halfa dozen Intelligence men had any knowledge (a) of Bellward beingan unnaturalized German, (b) of his arrest. 

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

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

"2. You will not leave the house until further orders. 

"3. You will keep careful note of any communication that may bemade to you, whether verbal or in writing, of whatever nature itis. When you have anything to be forwarded, ring up 700 Slanningon the telephone and give Bellward's name. You will hand yourreport to the first person calling at the house thereafter askingfor the letter for Mr. Elias. 

"4. If help is urgently required, ring up 700 Stanning and askfor Mr. Elias. Assistance will be with you within 15 minutesafter. This expedient must only be used in the last extremity. 

"5. Memorize these documents and burn the lot before you leavethe house. "

"Handy fellow, Mr. Elias, " was Desmond's commentary, as he sprangout of bed and made for the bathroom. At a quarter to one he wasready dressed, feeling very scratchy and uncomfortable about thebeard which he had not dared to remove owing to Nur-el-Din'spresence in the house. Before he left the bedroom, he paused amoment at the desk, the documents of the Bellward case in hishands. He had a singularly retentive memory, and he was loth tohave these compromising papers in the house whilst Nur-el-Din wasthere. He took a quick decision and pitched the whole lot intothe fire, retaining only the annotated list of Mr. Bellward'sfriends. This he placed in his pocket-book and, after watchingthe rest of the papers crumble away into ashes, went downstairsto lunch. 

Nur-el-Din was in the drawing-room, a long room with two highwindows which gave on a neglected looking garden. A foaming, churning brook wound its way through the garden, among stuntedbushes and dripping willows, obviously the mill-race from whichthe house took its name. The drawing-room was a bare, inhospitable room, studded here and there with uncomfortablelooking early Victorian armchairs swathed in dust-proof cloths. Afire was making an unsuccessful attempt to burn in the opengrate. 

Nur-el-Din turned as he entered the room. She was wearing a graycloth tailor-made with a white silk, blouse and a short skirtshowing a pair of very natty brown boots. By contrast with herugly surroundings she looked fresh and dainty. Her eyes werebright and her face as smooth and unwrinkled as a child's. 

"Bon jour, " she cried gaily, "ah! but I am 'ungry! It is the airof 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, translatingthe French idiom. "Shall we make a leetle promenade after thedejeuner? 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 provedto be quite a passable cook, waited on them. There was someexcellent Burgundy and a carafe of old brandy with the coffee. Nur-el-Din was in her most gracious and captivating mood. She haddropped all her arrogance of their last interview and seemed tolay herself out to please. She had a keen sense of humor andentertained Desmond vastly by her anecdotes of her stage career, some not a little risque, but narrated with the greatestbon-homie. 

But, strongly attracted as he was to the girl, Desmond did notlet himself lose sight of his ultimate object. He let her run onas gaily as she might but steadily, relentlessly he swung theconversation round to her last engagement at the Palaceum. Hewanted to see if she would make any reference to the murder atSeven Kings. If he could only bring in old Mackwayte's name, heknew that the dancer must allude to the tragedy. 

Then the unexpected happened. The girl introduce the oldcomedian's name herself. 

"The only pleasant memory I shall preserve of the Palaceum, " shesaid in French, "is my meeting with an old comrade of my youth. Imagine, I had not seen him for nearly twenty years. MonsieurMackwayte, his name is, we used to call him Monsieur Arthur inthe old days when I was the child acrobat of the Dupont Troupe. Such a charming fellow; and not a bit changed! He was doing adeputy turn at the Palaceum on the last night I appeared there!And he introduced me to his daughter! Une belle Anglaise! I shallhope to see my old friend again when I go back to London!"

Desmond stared at her. If this were acting, the most hardenedcriminal could not have carried it off better. He searched thegirl's face. It was frank and innocent. She ran on aboutMackwayte in the old days, his kindliness to everyone, his prettywife, without a shadow of an attempt to avoid an unpleasanttopic. Desmond began to believe that not only did the girl havenothing to do with the tragedy but that actually she knew nothingabout it. 

"Did you see the newspapers yesterday?" he asked suddenly. 

"My friend, " said Nur-el-Din, shaking her curls at him. "I neverread 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 coffeeand cigarettes, came into the room. 

"There's a gentleman called to see you, sir!" she said toDesmond. 

Desmond started violently. He was scarcely used to his new roleas yet. 

"Who is it, Martha?" he said, mastering his agitation. 

"Mr. Mortimer!" mumbled the old woman in her tired voice, "atleast that's what he said his name was. The gentleman hadn't gota card!"

Nur-el-Din sprang up from her chair so vehemently that she upsether coffee. 

"Don't let him come in!" she cried in French. 

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

"Why, yes, sir, " the woman answered. 

Desmond made a gesture of vexation. 

"Where is this Mr. Mortimer?" he asked

"In the library, sir!"

"Tell him I will be with him at once. "

Martha hobbled away and Desmond turned to the girl. 

"You heard what my housekeeper said? The man is here. I shallhave to see him. "

Nur-el-Din, white to the lips, stood by the table, nervouslytwisting a little handkerchief. 

"Non, non, " she said rapidly, "you must not see him. He has cometo find me. Ah! if he should find out what I have done... Youwill not give me up to this man?"

"You need not see him, " Desmond expostulated gently, "I will sayyou are not here! Who is this Mortimer that he should seek to doyou harm?"

"My friend, " said the dancer sadly, "he is my evil genius. If Ihad dreamt that you knew him I would never have sought refuge inyour house. "

"But I've never set eyes on the man in my life!" exclaimedDesmond. 

The dancer shook her head mournfully at him. 

"Very few of you have, my friend, " she replied, "but you are allunder his orders, nest-ce pas?"

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

"I've trusted you, Monsieur, " Nur-el-Din continued in a pleadingvoice, "you will respect the laws of hospitality, and hide mefrom this man. You will not give me up! Promise it, my friend?"

Desmond felt strangely moved. Was this a callous murderess, ahired spy, who, with her great eyes brimming over with tears, entreated his protection so simply, so appealingly?

"I promise I will not give you up to him, Mademoiselle!" he saidand 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 foundNur-el-Din asleep on his arrival. His nerves were strung up tightfor the impending encounter with this Mortimer, whoever, whateverhe was. Desmond did not hesitate on the threshold of the room. Hequietly opened the door and walked in. 

A man in a black and white check suit with white gaiters stood onthe hearthrug, his hands tucked behind his back. He had acuriously young-old appearance, such as is found in professorsand scientists of a certain type. This suggestion was probablyheightened by the very strong spectacles he wore, which magnifiedhis eyes until they looked like large colored marbles. He had aheavy curling moustache resembling that affected by the late LordRandolph 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 wasquite unable to place him. 

"Mr. Bellward?" said Mortimer, in a pleasant cultivated voice, "Iam pleased to have this opportunity of meeting you personally. "

Desmond bowed and muttered something conventional. Mortimer hadput out his hand but Desmond could not nerve himself to take it. Instead he pushed forward a chair. 

"Thanks, " said Mortimer sitting down heavily, "I've had quite awalk across the fen. It's pleasant out but damp! I suppose youdidn't get my letter?"

"Which letter was that" asked Desmond. 

"Why the one asking you to let me know when you would be back sothat 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. "Dideverything go off all right?"

"Oh, yes, " Desmond hastened to say, not knowing what he wastalking about, "everything went off all right. "

"I don't in the least grudge you the holiday, " the otherobserved, "one should always be careful to pay the last respectsto the dead. It makes a good impression. That is so important insome countries!"

He beamed at Desmond through his spectacles. 

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

Desmond took a firm resolution. He must know what the man wasdriving at. 

"I don't know what you mean, " he said bluntly. 

"God bless my soul!" ejaculated Mortimer turning round to stareat him through his grotesque glasses. And then he said verydeliberately in German:

"War niemand da?"

Desmond stood up promptly. 

"What do you want with me?" he asked quietly, "and why do youspeak German in my house?" Mortimer gazed at him blankly. 

"Excellence, most excellent, " he gasped. "I love prudence. Myfriend, where are your eyes?"

He put a large, firm hand up and touched the upper edge of theleft lapel of his jacket. Desmond followed his gesture with hiseyes and saw the other's first finger resting on the shiny glasshead of a black pin. Almost instinctively Desmond imitated thegesture. His fingers came into contact with a glassheaded pinsimilarly embedded in the upper edge of the lapel of his owncoat. 

Then he understood. This must be the distinguishing badge of thisconfraternity of spies. It was a clever idea, for the black pinwas practically invisible, unless one looked for it, and even ifseen, would give rise to no suspicions. It had obviously escapedthe notice of the Chief and his merry men, and Desmond made amental resolve to rub this omission well into his superior on thefirst opportunity. He felt he owed the Chief one. 

Mr. Mortimer cleared his throat, as though to indicate theconclusion 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 glasseswith a bandanna handkerchief, "the service will be resumed. Ihave come to see you, Mr. Bellward, " he went on, turning toDesmond, "contrary to my usual practice, mainly because I wishedto confirm by personal observation the very favorable opinion Ihad formed of your ability from our correspondence. You havealready demonstrated your discretion to me. If you continue toshow that your prudence is on a level with your zeal, believe Ishall not prove myself ungrateful. "

So saying he settled his glasses on his nose again. 

The action woke Desmond from a brown study. During the operationof wiping his spectacles, Mr. Mortimer had given Desmond aglimpse of his eyes in their natural state without the protectionof those distorting glasses. To his intense surprise Desmond hadseen, instead of the weak, blinking eyes of extreme myopia, apair of keen piercing eyes with the clear whites of perfecthealth. Those blue eyes, set rather close together, seemed dimlyfamiliar. Someone, somewhere, had once looked at him like that. 

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

Mortimer did not apparently notice his absentmindedness. 

"Everything has run smoothly, " he resumed, "on the lines on whichwe have been working hitherto, but more important work liesbefore us. I have found it necessary to select a quiet rendezvouswhere I might have an opportunity of conferring in person with myassociates. The first of these conferences will take place veryshortly. I count upon your attendance, Bellward!"

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

Mortimer shot a quick glance at him. 

"You shall know in good time, " he answered drily. Then he added:

"Do you mind if I have a few words with Nur-el-Din before I go!"

The unexpected question caught Desmond off his guard. 

"Nur-el-Din?" he stammered feebly. 

"She is staying with you, I believe, " said Mortimer pleasantly. 

Desmond shook his head. 

"There must be some mistake, " he averred stoutly, "of course Iknow who you mean, but I have never met the lady. She is nothere. What led you to suppose she was?"

But even as he spoke, his eyes fell on a black object which laynear his arm stretched out along the back of the settee. It was alittle velvet hat, skewered to the upholstery of the settee by acouple of jewelled hat-pins. A couple of gaudy cushions laybetween it and Mortimer's range of vision from the chair in whichthe latter was sitting. If only Mortimer had not spotted italready!

Desmond's presence of mind did not desert him. On the pretext ofsettling himself more comfortably he edged up another cushionuntil it rested upon the other two, thus effectively screeningthe hat from Mortimer's view even when he should get up. 

"I wish she were here, " Desmond added, smiling, "one could nothave a more delightful companion to share one's solitude, Iimagine. "

"The lady has disappeared from London under rather suspiciouscircumstances;" Mortimer said, letting his grotesque eyes restfor a moment on Desmond's face, "to be quite frank with you, mydear fellow, she has been indiscreet, and the police are afterher. "

"You don't say!" cried Desmond. 

"Indeed, it is a fact, " replied the other, "I wish she would takeyou as her model, my dear Bellward. You are the pattern ofprudence, are you not?"

He paused perceptibly and Desmond held his breath. 

"She has very few reputable friends, " Mortimer continuedpresently, "under a cloud as she is, she could hardly frequentthe company of her old associates, Mowbury and Lazarro and Mrs. Malplaquet, you doubtless know whom I mean. I know she has a verystrong recommendation to you, so I naturally thought--well, nomatter!"

He rose and extended his hand. 

"Au revoir, Bellward, " he said, "you shall hear from me verysoon. You've got a snug little place here, I must say, andeverything in charming taste. I like your pretty cushions. "

The blood flew to Desmond's face and he bent down, on pretense ofexamining the cushions, to hide his confusion. 

"They aren't bad, " he said, "I got them at Harrod's!"

He accompanied Mortimer to the front door and watched himdisappear down the short drive and turn out of the gate into theroad. Then feeling strangely ill at ease, he went back to joinNur-el-Din in the dining-room. But only the housekeeper wasthere, clearing the table. 

"If you're looking for the young lady, sir, " said old Martha, "she's gone out!"

"Oh!" said Desmond, with a shade of disappointment in his voice, "will she be back for tea?"

"She's not coming back at all, " answered the old woman, "she toldme to tell you she could not stop, sir. And she wouldn't let medisturb 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 anuneasy feeling that he had failed in his duty. 

CHAPTER XIII. WHAT SHAKESPEARE'S COMEDIES REVEALED

In a very depressed frame of mind, Desmond turned into thelibrary. As he crossed the hall, he noticed how cheerless thehouse was. Again there came to him that odor of mustiness--of allsmells the most eerie and drear--which he had noticed on hisarrival. Somehow, as long as Nur-el-Din had been there, he hadnot remarked the appalling loneliness of the place. 

A big log fire was blazing cheerfully in the grate, throwing outa bright glow into the room which, despite the early hour, wasalready wreathed in shadows. Wearily Desmond pulled a bigarmchair up to the blaze and sat down. He told himself that hemust devote every minute of his spare time to going over in hismind the particulars he had memorized of Mr. Bellward's habitsand acquaintanceships. He took the list of Bellward's friendsfrom his pocket-book. 

But this afternoon he found it difficult to concentrate hisattention. His gaze kept wandering back to the fire, in whoseglowing depths he fancied he could see a perfect oval face withpleading eyes and dazzling teeth looking appealingly at him. 

Nur-el-Din! What an entrancing creature she was! What passionlurked in those black eyes of hers, in her moods, swiftlychanging from gusts of fierce imperiousness to gentle airs offeminine charm! What a frail little thing she was to have foughther way alone up the ladder from the lowest rung to the very top!She must have character and grit, Desmond decided, for he was ayoung man who adored efficiency: to him efficiency spelledsuccess. 

But a spy needs grit, he reflected, and Nur-el-Din had manyqualities 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, thingslooked that way. What would the Chief say if he could see hisprize young man, his white-headed boy, sitting sentimentalizingby the fire over a woman who was, by her own confession, practically an accredited German agent? Desmond thrust his chinout and shook himself together. He would put the feminine side ofNur-el-Din out of his head. He must think of her henceforth onlyas a member of the band that was spotting targets for thosesneaking, callous brutes of U-boat commanders. 

He went back to the study of the list of Mr. Bellward's friends. But he found it impossible to focus his mind upon it. Do what hewould, he could not rid himself of the sensation that he hadfailed at the very outset of his mission. He was, indeed, he toldhimself, the veriest tyro at the game. Here he had had under hishand in turn Nur-el-Din and Mortimer (who, he made no doubt, wasthe leader of the gang which was so sorely troubling the Chief), and he had let both get away without eliciting from either evenas much as their address. By the use of a little tact, he hadcounted on penetrating something of the mystery enveloping thedancer and her relationship with the gang; for he thought hedivined that Nur-el-Din was inclined to make him her confidant. With the information thus procured, he had hoped to get on to thetrack of the leader of the band. 

But that ugly brute; Mortimer, with his goggle eyes, had spoiledeverything. His appearance had taken Desmond completely bysurprise: to tell the truth, it had thrown our young man ratheroff his guard. "If only I might have had a little longeracquaintance with my part, " he reflected bitterly as $e sat bythe fire, "I should have been better able to deal with thatpompous ass!"

Afterwards, when thinking over the opening events of thisextraordinary episode of his career, Desmond rather wondered whyhe had not followed Mortimer out of the house that afternoon andtracked him down to his hiding place. But, as a matter of fact, the idea did not occur to him at the time. His orders werepositive not to leave the house, and he never even thought ofbreaking them--at any rate, not then. 

His orders, also, it is true, were to report to headquarters anycommunication that might be made to him; but these instructions, at least as far as Nur-el-Din's and Mortimer's visits wereconcerned, he resolved to ignore. 

For one thing, he felt angry with the Chief who, he argued ratherirrationally, ought to have foreseen and prevented Mortimer thustaking him by surprise. The Chief liked secrets--well, for achange, he should be kept in the dark and the laugh would be onDesmond's side. For a few minutes after Mortimer's departure, Desmond had felt strongly inclined to go to the telephone whichstood on the desk in the library and ring up Mr. Elias, as heshould have done, but he resisted this impulse. Now, thinkingthings over in the firelight, he was glad he had refrained. Hewould ferret out for himself the exact part that Nur-el-Din andMortimer were playing in this band of spies. Nothing definite hadcome of his interviews with them as yet. It would be time enoughto communicate with Headquarters when he had something positiveto report. 

Then Desmond thrust the paper he had been studying back in hispocket-book and jumped up. He felt that the inaction was stiflinghim. He determined to go for a walk round the garden. That, atleast, was in the spirit of his orders. 

Remembering that he was supposed to be suffering from a chill hedonned a heavy Ulster of Bellward's which was hanging in the halland wound a muffler round his neck. Then cramming a soft cap onhis head (he noted with satisfaction that Bellward's hats fittedhim remarkably well) he opened the front door and steppedoutside. 

The rain had stopped, but the whole atmosphere reeled ofmoisture. Angry-looking, dirty-brown clouds chased each otheracross 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 overgrownrhododendron bushes dotted here and there ran its length in frontof the house and terminated in an iron railing which separatedthe grounds from a little wood. A badly water-logged drive, greenwith grass in places, ran past the lawn in a couple of shortbends to the front gate. On the other side the drive was borderedby what had once been a kitchen garden but was now a howlingwilderness of dead leaves, mud and gravel with withered bushesand half a dozen black, bare and dripping apple trees set aboutat intervals. At the side of the house the kitchen garden stoppedand was joined by a flower garden--at least so Desmond judged itto have been by a half ruined pergola which he had noticed fromthe drawing-room windows. Through the garden ran the mill-racewhich poured out of the grounds through a field and under alittle bridge spanning the road outside. 

Desmond followed the drive as far as the front gate. Thesurrounding country was as flat as a pancake, and in almost everyfield lay great glistening patches of water where the land hadbeen flooded by the incessant rain. The road on which the housewas built ran away on the left to the mist-shrouded horizonwithout another building of any kind in sight. Desmond surmisedthat Morstead Fen lay in the direction in which he was looking. To the right, Desmond caught a glimpse of a ghostly spiresticking out of some trees and guessed that this was WentfieldChurch. In front of him the distant roar of a passing trainshowed 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 pathtraversing the kitchen garden, he followed it. It led to the backof the house, to the door of a kind of lean-to shed. The latchyielded on being pressed and Desmond entered the place. 

He found himself in a fair-sized shed, very well and solidlybuilt of pitch-pine, with a glazed window looking out on thegarden, a table and a couple of chairs, and a large cupboardwhich occupied the whole of one side of the wall of the houseagainst which the shed was built. In a corner of the shed stood avery good-looking Douglas motor-cycle, and on a nail on the wallhung a set of motor-cyclist's overalls. A few petrol cans, somefull, some empty, stood against the wall. 

Desmond examined the machine. It was in excellent condition, beautifully clean, the tank half full of spirits. A little drysand 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, Iwonder? Tools, I expect!"

Then he caught sight of a deep drawer in the table. It washalf-open and he saw that it contained various tools and spareparts, neatly arranged, each one in its appointed place. 

He went over to the cupboard and tried it. It was locked. Desmondhad little respect for Mr. Bellward's property so he went over tothe tool drawer and selected a stout chisel with which to burstthe lock of the cupboard. But the cupboard was of oak, verysolidly built, and he tried in vain to get a purchase for hisimplement. He leant his left hand against the edge of thecupboard whilst with his right he jabbed valiantly with thechisel. 

Then an extraordinary thing happened. The whole cupboardnoiselessly swung outwards while Desmond, falling forward, caughthis forehead a resounding bang against the edge of the recess inwhich it moved. He picked himself up in a very savage frame ofmind--a severe blow on the head is not the ideal cure forhypochondria--but the flow of objurgatives froze on his lips. Forhe found himself looking into Mr. Bellward's library. 

He stepped into the room to see how the cupboard looked from theother side. He found that a whole section of bookshelves hadswung back with the cupboard, in other words that the cupboard inthe toolshed and the section of bookshelves were apparently allof one piece. 

He carefully examined the walls on either side of the recess inthe library to see how the mechanism worked. The bookshelves wereopen, made of mahogany, the sides elaborately carved with leavesand flowers. Desmond ran his hand down the perpendicular sectionimmediately on the right of the recess. About halfway down--to beexact, it was in line with the fifth shelf from the floor--hisfingers encountered a little knob which gave under pressure--theheart of a flower which released the section of bookshelves. Going back to the shed, Desmond examined the place against whichhis hand had rested as he sought to force the lock of thecupboard. As he expected, he found a similar catch let into thesurface of the oak, but so cunningly inlaid that it could scarcebe detected with the naked eye. 

Before proceeding further with his investigations, Desmond softlyturned the lock of the library door. He also shot forward a bolthe found on the inside of the door of the shed. He did not wantto be interrupted by the housekeeper or the odd man. 

Then he went back to the library and pulled the cupboard tobehind him. It moved quite easily into place. He wanted to have alook at the bookshelves; for he was curious to know whether thecupboard was actually all of one piece with the section ofbookshelves as it seemed to be. He was prepared to find that thebooks were merely library dummies, but no! He tried half a dozenshelves at random, and every book he pulled out was real. 

Desmond was not easily baled, and he determined to scrutinizeevery shelf, of this particular section in turn. With the aid ofone of those step-ladders folding into a chair which yousometimes see in libraries, he examined the topmost shelves butwithout result. He took down in turn Macaulay's History ofEngland, a handsome edition of the works of Swift, and a set ofMoliere without getting any nearer the end of his quest. 

The fourth shelf from the top was devoted to a library edition ofShakespeare, large books bound in red morocco. Desmond, who, bythis time was getting cramp in the arms from stretching upwardsand had made his hands black with dust, pulled out a couple ofvolumes at hazard from the set and found them real books like therest. 

"Oh, damn!" he exclaimed, and had half a mind to abandon thesearch and have a go with hammer and chisel at the cupboard inthe shed. By this time it was almost dusk in the library, andDesmond, before abandoning the search, struck a match to have afinal rapid glance over the shelves. The light showed him acurious flatness about the backs of the last six volumes ofShakespeare. He dropped the match and laid hold of a volume ofthe Comedies. It resisted. He tugged. Still it would not come. Exerting all his strength, he pulled, the gilt-lettered backs ofthe last six volumes came away in his hands in one piece and hecrashed off the ladder to the ground. 

This time he did not swear. He picked himself up quickly, lit thelamp on the table by the window, and brought it over to thebookcase. Where Shakespeare's Comedies had stood was now a gapingvoid with a small key stuck in a lock, above a brass handle. Desmond mounted on the steps again and eagerly turned the key. Then he grasped the handle and puled, the section of bookshelvesswung back like a door, and he found himself face to face with agreat stack of petrol cans. They lay in orderly piles stretchingfrom the floor to the top of the bookshelves near the railing, several tiers deep. At a rough computation there must have beenseveral hundred cans in the recess. And they were all full. 

In a flash Desmond realized what his discovery signified. Themotor-cycle in the shed without was the connecting link betweenBellward and the man with whom he was co-operating in theorganization. Under pretext of reading late in his libraryBellward would send old Martha to bed, and once the house wasquiet, sally forth by his secret exit and meet his confederate. Even when he was supposed to be sleeping in London he could stilluse the Mill House for a rendezvous, entering and leaving by thesecret door, and no one a bit the wiser. In that desolate part ofEssex, the roads are practically deserted after dark. Bellwardcould come and go much as he pleased on his motor-cycle. Were hestopped, he always had the excuse ready that he was going to--orreturning from the station. The few petrol cans that Desmond hadseen openly displayed in the shed without seemed to show thatBellward received a small quantity of spirit from the PetrolBoard to take him to and from the railway. 

The cache, so elaborately concealed, however, pointed to longjourneys. Did Bellward undertake these trips to fetch news or totransmit it? And who was his confederate? Whom did he go to meet?Not Mortimer; for he had only, corresponded with Bellward. Norwas it Nur-el-Din; for she had never met Bellward, either. 

Who was it, then?

CHAPTER XIV. BARBARA TAKES A HAND

"No luck, Mr. Marigold, " said the Assistant Provost Marshal, "I'msorry, but there it is! We've made every possible inquiry aboutthis Private... Er... " he glanced at the buff-colored leave passin his hand, "... This Gunner Barling, but we can't trace him sofar. He should have gone back to France the afternoon before theday on which you found his pass. But he hasn't rejoined his unit. He's been posted as an absentee, and the police have been warned. I'm afraid we can't do any more than that!"

The detective looked at the officer with mild reproach in hiseyes. 

"Dear, dear, " he replied, "and I made sure you'd be able to tracehim 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 havea horror of leading questions, and Mr. Marigold shrank visiblybefore the directness of the other's inquiry. Before replying, however, he measured the officer with his calm, shrewd eye. Mr. Marigold was not above breaking his own rules of etiquette ifthereby 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 alittle bit. It's part of your work to look after deserters andabsentees 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 lifeever since I came back from the front. "

"If you want to know what this young fellow has been up to, " saidMr. Marigold in his even voice, "it's murder, if I'm notmistaken!"

"Murder?" echoed the other in surprise. "Why, not the Seven Kingsmurder, surely?"

The detective gave a brisk nod. 

"That's it, " he replied, "I'm in charge of that case, if youfollow me. I found that pass in the front garden of theMackwayte's house in Laleham Villas, half trodden into the earthof the flower-bed by a heavy boot, a service boot, studded withnails. There had been a lot of rain in the night, and it hadwashed the mosaic-tiled pathway up to the front door almostclean. When I was having a look round the garden, I picked upthis pass, and then I spotted the trace of service boots, a bitfaint, on the beds. You know the way the nails are set in theissue boots?"

The officer nodded:

"I ought to know that foot-print, " he said. "It's all over theroads in northern France. "

"We made inquiries through you, " the detective resumed, "and whenI found that this Gunner Barling, the owner of the pass, wasmissing, well, you will admit, it looked a bit suspicious. "

"Still, you know, " the A. P. M. Objected, "this man appears to havethe most excellent character. He's got a clean sheet; he's nevergone absent before. And he's been out with his battery almostsince the beginning of the war. "

"I'm not making any charge against him as yet, " answered thedetective, picking up his hat, "but it would interest me verymuch, very much indeed, Captain Beardiston, to have five minutes'chat with this gunner. And so I ask you to keep a sharp lookoutfor a man answering to his description, and if you come acrosshim, 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 forgivethose lads who are fighting out there almost anything. I've got aboy in France myself!"

A little sigh escaped him, and then Mr. Marigold remembered "TheYard. "

"I'll bid you good-day!" he added in his most official voice andtook his leave. 

He walked down the steps by the Duke of York's column and throughthe Horse Guards into Whitehall, seemingly busy with his ownthoughts. A sprucely dressed gentleman who was engaged in theexciting and lucrative sport of war profiteering turned color andhastily swerved out towards the Park as he saw the detectivecrossing the Horse Guards' Parade. He was unpleasantly remindedof making the acquaintance of Mr. Marigold over a bucketshop afew years ago with the result that he had vanished from the eyeof his friends for eighteen months. He congratulated himself onthinking that Mr. Marigold had not seen him, but he would haverecognized his mistake could he but have caught sight of thedetective's face. A little smile flitted across Mr. Marigold'slips and he murmured to himself:

"Our old friend is looking very prosperous just now. I wonderwhat he's up to?"

Mr. Marigold didn't miss much. 

The detective made his way to the Chief's office. BarbaraMackwayte, in a simple black frock with white linen collar andcuffs, was at her old place in the ante-room. A week had elapsedsince the murder, and the day before, Mr. Marigold knew, themortal remains of poor old Mackwayte had been laid to rest. Hewas rather surprised to see the girl back at work so soon. 

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

Mr. Marigold looked at her and gravely shook his head. 

"Nothing fresh, " he said. 

The Chief was unusually exuberant. Mr. Marigold found himsurrounded, as was his wont, by papers, and a fearsome collectionof telephone receivers. He listened in silence to Mr. Marigold'saccount of his failure to trace Barling. 

"Marigold, " he said, when the other had finished, "we mustundoubtedly lay hold of this fellow. Let's see now... Ah! I haveit!"

He scribbled a few lines on a writing-pad and tossed it across tothe detective. 

"If your friend's innocent, " he chuckled, "that'll fetch him to adead certainty. If he murdered Mackwayte, of course he won'trespond. Read it out and let's hear how it sounds!"

The Chief leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette while thedetective read out:

"If Gunner Barling, etcetera, etcetera, will communicate withMessrs. Blank and Blank, solicitors, he will hear of something tohis advantage. Difficulties with the military can be arranged. "

"But I say, sir, " objected Mr. Marigold, "the militaryauthorities will hardly stand for that last, will they?"

"Won't they, by Jove" retorted the Chief grimly. "They will if Itell 'em to. No official soullessness for me; thank you! And now, Marigold, just ask Matthews to fill in Barling's regimentalnumber and all that and the name and address of the solicitorswho do this kind of thing for us. And tell him we'll insert thead. Daily until further notice in the Mail, Chronicle, DailyNews, Sketch, Mirror, Evening News... "

"And Star, " put in Mr. Marigold who had Radical tendencies. 

"The Star, too, by all means. That ought to cover the extent ofyour pal's newspaper reading, I fancy, eh, Marigold! Right!"

He held out a hand in farewell. But Mr. Marigold stood hisground. He was rather a slow mover, and there were a lot ofthings he wanted to discuss with the Chief. 

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

"All terrible, terrible!" said the Chief. Then he added:

"Just tell Miss Mackwayte I want her as you go out, will you?"

The detective was used to surprises but the Chief still bowledhim 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 onreturning to work. The whole ghastly business of the murder andthe inquest that followed seemed to her like a bad dream whichhaunted her day and night. By tacit consent no one in the officehad made any further allusion, to the tragedy. She had justslipped back into her little niche, prompt, punctual, efficientas ever. 

"No, it's not for the letters, " the Chief said to her as she camein with her notebook and pencil. "I'm going to give you a littletrip down to the country this afternoon, Miss Mackwayte... To, Essex... The Mill House, Wentfield... You know whom it is you areto see, eh? I'm getting a little restless as we've had no reportssince he arrived there. I had hoped, by this, to have been ableto put him on the track of Nur-el-Din, but, for the moment, itlooks as if we had lost the scent. But you can tell our friendall we know about the lady's antecedents--what we had from myFrench colleague the other day, you know? Let him have all theparticulars about this Barling case--you know about that, don'tyou? Good, and, see here, try and find out from our mutual friendwhat he intends doing. I don't want to rush him... Don't let himthink that... But I should rather like to discover whether he hasformed any plan. And now you get along. There's a good trainabout three which gets you down to Wentfield in just under thehour. Take care of yourself! See you in the morning!"

Pressing a bell with one hand and lifting up a telephone receiverwith the other, the Chief immersed himself again in his work. Heappeared to have forgotten Miss Mackwayte's very existence. 

At a quarter to five that evening, Barbara unlatched the frontgate of the Mill House and walked up the drive. She had come onfoot from the station and the exercise had done her good. It hadbeen a deliciously soft balmy afternoon, but with the fall ofdusk a heavy mist had come creeping up from the sodden, low-lyingfields 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 thevague fears that had hung over her incessantly ever since herfather's murder. She had only met him twice, she told herselfwhen this thought occurred to her, but there was somethingbracing and dependable about him that was just the tonic shewanted. 

A porter at the station, who was very intelligent as countryporters go, had told her the way to the Mill House. The way wasnot easy to find for there were various turns to make but, withthe aid of such landmarks as an occasional inn, a pond or a barn, given her by the friendly porter, Barbara reached herdestination. Under the porch she pulled the handle of the bell, all dank and glistening with moisture, and heard it tinkle loudlysomewhere within the house. 

How lonely the place was, thought Barbara with a little shiver!The fog was growing thicker every minute and now seemed suspendedlike a vast curtain between her and the drive. Somewhere in thedistance she heard the hollow gurgling of a stream. Otherwise, there was no sound. 

She rang the bell again rather nervously and waited. In her bagshe had a little torch-light (for she was a practical youngperson), and taking it out, she flashed it on the door. Itpresented a stolid, impenetrable oaken front. She stepped outinto the fog and scanned the windows which were already almostlost to view. They were dark and forbidding. 

Again she tugged at the bell. Again, with a groaning of wires, responded the hollow tinkle. Then silence fell once more. Barbarabegan to get alarmed. What had happened to Major Okewood? She hadunderstood that there was no question of his leaving the houseuntil the Chief gave him the word. Where, then, was he? He wasnot the man to disobey an order. Rather than believe that, shewould think that something untoward had befallen him. Had therebeen foul play here, too?

A sudden panic seized her. She grasped the bell and tugged andtugged until she could tug no more. The bell jangled and pealedand clattered reverberatingly from the gloomy house, and then, with a jarring of wires, relapsed into silence. Barbara beat onthe door with her hands, for there was no knocker; but allremained still within. Only the dank mist swirled in ever denserabout her as she stood beneath the dripping porch. 

"This won't do!" said Barbara, pulling herself together. "Imustn't get frightened, whatever I do! Major Okewood is very wellcapable of defending himself. What's happened is that the man hasbeen called away and the servants have taken advantage of hisabsence to go out! Barbara, my dear, you'll just have to foot itback to the station without your tea!"

She turned her back on the door and torch in hand, plungedresolutely into the fog-bank. The mist was bewilderingly thick. Still, by going slow and always keeping the gravel under herfeet, she reached the front gate and turned out on the road. 

Here the mist was worse than ever. She had not taken four pacesbefore she had lost all sense of her direction. The gate, therailways, were gone. She was groping in a clinging pall of fog. 

Her torch was worse than useless. It only illuminated swirlingswathes of mist and confused her, so she switched it out. In vainshe looked about her, trying to pick up some landmark to guideher. There was no light, no tree, no house visible, nothing butthe dank, ghostly mist. 

To some temperaments, Nature has no terrors. Barbara, to whoseimagination an empty house at dusk had suggested all kinds ofunimaginable fears, was not in the least frightened by the fog. She only hoped devoutly that a motor-car or a trap would not comealong behind and run her down for she was obliged to keep to theroad; the hard surface beneath her feet was her only guide. 

She smiled over her predicament as she made her way along. Shefrequently found herself going off the road, more than once intopatches of water, with the result that in a few minutes her feetwere sopping. Still she forged ahead, with many vain halts toreconnoitre while the fog, instead of lifting, seemed to thickenwith every step she took. 

By this time she knew she was completely lost. Coming from thestation there had been, she remembered, a cross-roads with asign-board set up on a grass patch, about a quarter of a milefrom the Mill House. She expected every minute to come upon thisfork; again and again she swerved out to the left from her lineof march groping for the sign-post with her hands but she neverencountered it. 

Few sounds came to break in upon the oppressive silence of themist. Once or twice Barbara heard a train roaring along in thedistance and, at one of her halts, her ear caught the high risingnote of a motor engine a long way off. Except for theseoccasional reminders of the proximity of human beings, she feltshe must be on a desert island instead of less than two scoremiles from London. 

Her wrist watch showed her that she had walked for an hour whenshe heard a dog barking somewhere on the left of the road. Presently, she saw a blurred patch of radiance apparently on theground in front of her. So deceptive are lights seen through afog that she was quite taken aback suddenly to come upon a longlow 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 signsqueaked softly as it swayed to and fro. The inn was built roundthree sides of a square, the left-hand side being the houseitself, the centre, the kitchen, and the right-hand side atumble-down stable and some sheds. 

The welcome blaze of light coming from the open door was verywelcome to Barbara after her, long journey through the mist. Shedragged her wet and weary feet across the little bridge and wentup to the inn-door. 

She stood for a moment at the entrance dazzled by the effect ofthe light on her eyes, which were smarting with the fog. Shefound herself looking into a long, narrow, taproom, smelling ofstale beer and tobacco fumes, and lit by oil lamps suspended inwire frames from the raftered ceiling. The windows were curtainedin cheerful red rep and the place was pleasantly warmed by astove in one corner. By the stove was a small door apparentlyleading into the bar, for beside it was a window through whichBarbara caught a glimpse of beer-engines and rows of bottles. Opposite the doorway in which she stood was another door leadingprobably to the back of the house. Down the centre of the roomran a long table. 

The tap-room was empty when Barbara entered but as she sat downat the table, the door opposite opened, and a short, foreign-looking woman came out. She stepped dead on seeing thegirl: Her face seemed familiar to Barbara. 

"Good evening" said the latter, "I've lost my way in the fog andI'm very wet. Do you think I could have my shoes and stockingsdried and get some tea? I... "

"A moment! I go to tell Meester Rass, " said the woman with a verymarked foreign accent and in a frightened kind of voice andslipped out by the way she came. 

"Where have I met that woman before?" Barbara asked herself, asshe crossed to tile stove to get warm. The woman's face seemed tobe connected in her mind with something unpleasant, something shewanted to forget. Then a light dawned on her. Why, it was... 

A shrill cry broke in upon her meditations, a harsh scream ofrage. Barbara turned quickly and saw Nur-el-Din standing in thecentre of the room. She was transfigured with passion. Her wholebody quivered, her nostrils were dilated, her eyes flashed fire, and she pointed an accusing finger at Barbara. 

"Ah! miserable!" she cried in a voice strangled with rage, "ah!miserable! Te voile enrol. "

A cold chill struck at Barbara's heart. Wherever she went, thehideous spectre of the tragedy of her father seemed to followher. And now Nur-el-Din had come to upbraid her with losing thetreasure she had entrusted to her. 

"Nur-el-Din, " the girl faltered in a voice broken with tears. 

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

The dancer stamped furiously with her foot and advancedmenacingly on Barbara. 

An undersized; yellow-faced man came quickly out of the smalldoor leading from the bar and stood an instant, a helplesswitness of the scene, as men are when women quarrel. 

Nur-el-Din rapped out an order to him in a tongue which wasunknown to Barbara. It sounded something like Russian. The manturned and locked the door of the bar, then stepped swiftlyacross the room and bolted the outer door. 

Barbara recognized the threat that the action implied and itserved to steady her nerves. She shrank back no longer but drewherself up and waited calmly for the dancer to reach her. 

"The box you gave me, " said Barbara very quietly, "was stolenfrom me by the person who... Who murdered my father!"

Nur-el-Din burst into a peal of malicious laughter. 

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

On this Barbara's self-control abandoned her. 

"Oh, how dare you! How dare you!" she exclaimed, bursting intotears, "when that wretched box you made me take was the means ofmy losing the dearest friend I ever had!"

Nur-el-Din thrust her face, distorted with passion, intoBarbara's. She spoke in rapid French, in a low, menacing voice. 

"Do you think this play-acting will deceive me? Do you think Idon't know the value of the treasure I was fool enough to entrustto your safe keeping? Grand Dieu! I must have been mad not tohave remembered that no woman could resist the price that theywere willing to pay for it! And to think what I have risked forit! Is all my sacrifice to have been in vain?"

Her voice rose to a note of pleading and the tears started fromher 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 havegreat 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'tgive 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 fewwords rapidly in the language she had used before. Then she criedto Barbara:

"You stay here until you tell me what you have done with thebox!"

Barbara had turned to the dancer when the latter spoke so thatshe did not notice that the man had moved stealthily towards her. Before she could struggle or cry out, a hand as big as a spadewas clapped over her mouth, she was seized in an iron grip andhalf-dragged, half-carried out of the taproom through the smalldoor opposite the front entrance. 

The door slammed behind them and Barbara found herself indarkness. She was pushed round a corner and down a flight ofstairs into some kind of cellar which smelt of damp straw. Herethe grip on her mouth was released for a second but before shecould utter more than a muffled cry the man thrust a handkerchiefinto her mouth and effectually gagged her. Then he tied her handsand feet together with some narrow ropes that cut her wristshorribly. He seemed to be able to see in the dark for, though theplace was black as pitch, he worked swiftly and skillfully. Barbara felt herself lifted and deposited on a bundle of straw. In a little she heard the man's heavy foot-step on the stair, there was a crash as of a trap-door falling to, the noise of abolt. Then Barbara fainted. 

CHAPTER XV. MR. BELLWARD IS CALLED TO THE TELEPHONE

A knocking at the door of the library aroused Desmond from hiscogitations. He hastened to replace the volumes of Shakespeare ontheir shelf and restore all to its former appearance. Then hewent to the door and opened it. Old Martha stood in the hall. 

"If you please, sir, " she wheezed, "the doctor's come!"

"Oh, " said Desmond, rather puzzled, "what doctor?"

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

Then Desmond remembered Crook's promise to look him up andguessed it must be he. He bade Martha show the doctor in andbring tea for two. 

Desmond's surmise was right. The old woman ushered in Crook, looking the very pattern of medical respectability, with HarleyStreet written all over him from the crown of his glossy top-hatto the neat brown spats on his feet. In his hand he carried asmall black bag. 

"Well, " he said, surveying Desmond, "and how do we find ourselvesto-day? These chills are nasty things to shake off, my dear sir!"

"Oh, stow that!" growled Desmond, who was in little mood forjoking. 

"Voice inclined to be laryngeal, " said Crook putting down his hatand bag on a chair, "we shall have to take care of our bronchialtubes! We are not so young as we were!"

"You can drop all that mumming, Crook!" snapped Desmondirascibly. 

"Voice rotten, " replied Crook calmly surveying him through hispince-nez. "Really, Major--I should say, Mr. Bellward--you musttake more pains than that. You are talking to me exactly asthough I were a British Tommy. Tut, tut, this will never do, sir!You must talk thicker, more guttural-like, and open the vowelswell. "

He had dropped his jesting manner altogether and spoke with thedeep earnestness of the expert airing his pet topic. He was soserious 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 longlecture against ever, for a moment, even when alone, quitting therole he was playing. Desmond took it in good part; for he knewthe soundness of the other's advice. 

Then old Martha brought' tea, and over the cups and saucers Crookgave Desmond a budget of news. He told of the warrant issued forthe arrest of Nur-el-Din and of the search being made for her. 

Desmond heard the news of Nur-el-Din's disappearance from Londonwith some consternation. He began to realize that his failure todetain Nur-el-Din that afternoon might have incalculableconsequences. Sunk in thought, he let Crook run on. He waswondering whether he ought to give him a message for the Chief, telling him of Nur-el-Din's visit and of her flight on thearrival of Mortimer. 

Now, Desmond had a good deal of pride, and like most proudpeople, he was inclined to be obstinate. To confess to the Chiefthat he had let both Nur-el-Din and Mortimer slip through hisfingers was more than he could face. He could not bear to thinkthat the Chief might believe him capable of failure, and takeindependent measures to guard against possible mistakes. Also, inhis heart of hearts, Desmond was angry with the Chief. He thoughtthe latter had acted precipitately in getting out a warrant forNur-el-Din's arrest before he, Desmond, had had time to get intothe skin of his part. 

So Desmond heard Crook out and made no comment. When the otherasked him if he had anything to tell the Chief, he shook hishead. He was not to know then the consequences which hisdisobedience of orders was destined to have. If he had realizedwhat the result of his obstinacy would be, he would not havehesitated to send a full report by Crook--and this story mightnever have been written!

But if youth followed reason instead of impulse, the world wouldstand still. Desmond was still at an age at which a man iswilling to take on anything and anybody, and he was confident ofbringing his mission to a successful conclusion without anyextraneous aid. So Crook, after changing Desmond's make-up andgiving him a further rehearsal of his role, packed up his potsand paints and brushes in his black bag and returned to Londonwith "nothing to report" as the communiques say. 

He repeated his visit every day for the next four days. Crook'sarrival each afternoon was the only break in the monotony of alife which was rapidly becoming unbearable to Desmond's mercurialtemperament. He found himself looking forward to the wizenedlittle man's visits and for want of better employment, he threwhimself wholeheartedly into the study of his role under theexpert's able direction. Desmond's beard had sproutedwonderfully, and Crook assured him that, by about the end of theweek, the tow substitute, which Desmond found a most unmitigatednuisance, would be no longer necessary. He also showed his pupilhow to paint in the few deft lines about the eyes which completedthe resemblance between Bellward and his impersonator. 

The time hung terribly heavily on Desmond's hands. He had longsince memorized and destroyed the list of Mr. Bellward's friends. Every morning he spent at least an hour before the mirror in hisbedroom working up the role. With every day he felt moreconfident of himself; with every day he grew more anxious to goto London, and, taking the bull by the horns, boldly visit one ofMr. Bellward's acquaintances and test the effect of his disguise. 

But no orders came from Headquarters to release him from hisconfinement. Moreover, no word arrived from Nur-el-Din nor didMortimer send any message or call again at the Mill House. Thesilence of the two conspirators made Desmond uneasy. SupposeMortimer, who, he felt sure, had caught him out lying aboutNur-el-Din's presence in the house at the time of his visit, hadgrown suspicious! What if Nur-el-Din had succeeded in making goodher escape to the Continent? He had had his chance of laying holdof both suspects and he had failed. Would that chance come again?

Desmond doubted it. Every morning he awoke long before the dawnand lay awake until daylight, his mind racked by theseapprehensions. He chafed bitterly at his inaction and he pliedCrook 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. Hismilitary training had given him a good schooling in the use ofmaps, and he spent many hours studying the section of the countryabout the Mill House, seeking to impress it upon his mind againstfuture emergencies. 

He was surprised to find how remote the Mill House lay from otherhabitations. Between it and Wentfield station, once Wentfieldvillage was passed, there were only a few lonely farms; but tothe south there was an absolutely uninhabited tract of fentraversed by the road running past the front gate of the MillHouse. The Mill House was duly marked on the map; with a littleblue line showing the millrace which Desmond traced to itsjunction with one of the broad dykes intersecting Morstead Fen. The only inhabited house to the south of the Bellward villaappeared to be a lonely public house situated on the far edge ofthe fen, a couple of hundred yards away from the road. It wascalled "The Dyke Inn. "

One afternoon--it was the fifth day after Desmond's arrival atBellward's--Mr. Crook announced that this was to be his lastvisit. 

"I go abroad to-night, Mr. Bellward, " he said (he always insistedon addressing Desmond by his assumed name), "a little job o' workin Switzerland; at Berne, to be precise. Urgent, you might callit, and really, sir, you've made so much progress that I think Ican safely leave you. And I was to say that you will be able togo out very soon now. "

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

Crook rubbed his nose meditatively. 

"I'll be quite frank with you, Mr. Bellward, " he said: "With asuperficial acquaintance, even with an intimate friend, if he'sas unobservant as most people are, you'll pass muster. But Ishouldn'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 youcan help, and remember that a woman is a heap more observant thana man. 

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

That night Desmond slept well and did not awake until thesunshine was streaming in between the Venetian blinds in hisbedroom. He felt keen and vigorous, and he had an odd feelingthat something was going to happen to him that day. 

It was a delicious morning, the air as balmy as spring. As hebrushed his hair in front of the window, Desmond saw the peewitsrunning about in the sunshine on the fields by the road. He madean excellent breakfast and then, lighting a pipe, opened theTimes 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 theannouncement every day; but the feeling of surprise was quicklyfollowed by one of relief. That brief line in the casualty listmeant the severing of all the old ties until he had hunted downhis quarry. 

Now he was ready to start. 

He spent the morning in the garden. Here, for the first time, hemet Mr. Hill, the odd man, who, on seeing him, became intenselybusy picking up handfuls of leaves and conveying them to a firewhich was smouldering in a corner. Desmond essayed to enter intoconversation with him but the man was so impenetrably deaf thatDesmond, tiring of bawling, "It's a fine day!" in Mr. Hill's ear, left him and strolled over to the shed where the motor-cycle wasstored. Here he amused himself for more than an hour in takingthe machine to pieces and putting it together again. He satisfiedhimself that the bike was in working order and filled up thetank. He had an idea that this means of conveyance might come inuseful. 

The day was so mild that he lunched by the open window with thesunshine casting rainbows can the tablecloth through thewine-glasses. He was just finishing his coffee when thehousekeeper came in and told him he was wanted on the telephone. 

Desmond sprang from his chair with alacrity. His marching ordersat last! he thought, as he hurried across the hall to thelibrary. 

"Hullo!" he cried as he picked up the receiver. 

"Is that Mr. Bellward?" answered a nasal voice. 

"Bellward speaking!" said Desmond, wondering who had called himup. The voice was a man's but it was not the abrupt clear tonesof the Chief nor yet Mr. Matthews' careful accents. 

"Madame Le Bon wishes to see you!"

Madame Le Bon? thought Desmond. Why, that was the name thatNur-el-Din had given him. "I am Madame Le Bon, a Belgianrefugee, " she had said. 

"Do you know whom I mean?" the voice continued. 

"Certainly, " replied Desmond. "You will come alone. Otherwise, Madame will not see you. You understand? If you do not comealone, you will waste your time!"

"Where are you speaking from?" Desmond asked. 

"If you will turn to the left on leaving your front gate, " thevoice resumed, "and follow the road, a messenger will meet youand take you to the lady. "

"But... " Desmond began. 

"Will you come at once? And alone?" the nasal voice broke insharply. 

Desmond took a moment's thought. To go was to disobey orders; notto go was to risk losing a second chance of meeting Nur-el-Din. To telephone to 700 Stanning for assistance would bring ahornets' nest about his ears; yet he might only see the dancer ifhe went alone. He lost no time in making up his mind. The Chiefmust allow him latitude for meeting emergencies of this kind. Hewould 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 especialjob is to look after the headstrong. It was doubtless thisemissary of providence that leant down from his celestial seatand whispered in Desmond's ear that it would be delightful towalk out across the fen on this sunny afternoon. Desmond was inthe act of debating whether he would not take the motor-bike, butthe cherub's winning way clinched it and he plumped for walking. 

In the hall he met the housekeeper who told him she wanted to gointo Stanning to do some shopping that afternoon. Desmond toldher that he himself was going out and would not be back for tea. Then, picking a stout blackthorn out of the hallstand, he strodedown the drive and out into the road. 

It was still beautifully fine, but already the golden sunshinewas waning and there were little wisps and curls of mist stealinglow along the fields. Desmond turned to the left, on leaving theMill House, as he was bid and saw the road running like a khakiribbon 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 mileit narrowed to pursue its way between two broad ditches linedwith pollard willows and brimful of brown peaty water. By thistime he judged, from his recollection of the map, that he must beon Morstead Fen. An interminable waste of sodden, emerald greenfields, intersected by ditches, stretched away on either hand. 

He had walked for half an hour when he made out in the distance aclump of trees standing apart and seemingly in the middle of thefields. Then in the foreground he descried a gate. A figure wasstanding by it. 

As he approached the gate he saw it was a small boy. On remarkingthe stranger, the urchin opened the gate and without looking toright 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 detacheditself. By this time the sun was sinking in a smear of red acrossa delicately tinted sky. Its dying rays held some glitteringobject high up on the side of the house. 

At first Desmond thought it was a window, but presently the lightwent out, kindled again and once more vanished. It was too smallfor a window, Desmond decided, and then, turning the matter overin his mind, as observant people are accustomed to do even withtrifles, he suddenly realized that the light he had seen was thereflection of the sun on a telescope or glasses. 

They were now within a few hundred yards of the house. The roadhad made a right angle turn to the left, but the diminutive guidehad quitted it and struck out along a very muddy cart track. Shading his eyes, Desmond gazed at the house and presently got aglimpse of a figure at a window surveying the road through a pairof field glasses. Even as he looked, the figure bobbed down anddid not reappear. 

"They want to be sure I'm alone, " thought Desmond, andcongratulated himself on having had the strength of mind to breakhis orders. 

The cart-track led up to a little bridge over a ditch. By thebridge stood a tall pole, on the top of which was a blue and goldpainted sign-board inscribed, "The Dyke Inn by J. Rass. " Theurchin 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 hehad something of the figure of a gorilla, Desmond thought onlooking at him. 

The man put a finger up and touched his forelock. 

"Madame Le Bon is upstairs waiting for you!" he said in a nasalvoice which Desmond recognized as that he had heard on thetelephone. "Please to follow me!"

He led the way across a long low tap-room through a door and pastthe open trap-door of a cellar to a staircase. On the firstlanding, 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 headof the staircase, half a dozen steps up, and so saying, theyellow-faced man walked quickly downstairs and left him. Desmondheard his feet echo on the staircase and the door of the tap-roomslam. 

He hesitated a moment. What if this were a trap? SupposeMortimer, growing suspicious, had made use of Nur-el-Din to lurehim to an ambush in this lonely place? Why the devil hadn't hebrought a revolver with him?

Then Desmond's Irish blood came to his rescue. He gave his head alittle shake, took a firm hold of his stick which was a stoutishsort of cudgel and striding boldly up to the door indicated, tapped. 

"Entrez!" said a pretty voice that made Desmond's heart flutter. 

CHAPTER XVI. THE STAR OF POLAND

The room in which Desmond found Nur-el-Din was obviously theparlor of the house. Everything in it spoke of that dreary periodin art, the middle years of the reign of Victoria the Good. Thewall-paper, much mildewed in places, was an ugly shade of greenand there were dusty and faded red curtains at the windows anddraping the fireplace. Down one side of the room ran a hideousmahogany sideboard, almost as big as a railway station buffet, with a very dirty tablecloth. The chairs were of mahogany, upholstered in worn black horsehair and there were two pairs offly-blown steel engravings of the largest size on the wall. Inthe centre of the apartment stood a small round table, coveredwith a much stained red tablecloth and there was a door in thecorner. 

The dainty beauty of Nur-el-Din made a very forlorn picture amidthe unmatched savagery of this English interior. The dancer, whowas wearing the same becoming gray tweed suit in which Desmondhad last seen her, was sitting sorrowfully at the table whenDesmond entered. At the sight of him she sprang up and ran tomeet him with outstretched hands. 

"Ah!" she cried, "comme je suis heureuse de vows voir! It is goodof you to come!"

And then, without any warning, she burst into tears and puttingher hands on the man's shoulders, hid her head against his chestand sobbed bitterly. 

Desmond took one of her hands, small and soft and warm, andgently disengaged her. His mind was working clearly and rapidly. He felt sure of himself, sure of his disguise; if this were anexhibition of woman's wiles, it would find him proof; on that hewas resolved. Yet, dissolved in tears as she was, with her longlashes glistening and her mouth twitching pitifully, the dancerseemed to touch a chord deep down in his heart. 

"Come, come, " said Desmond gutturally, with a touch of bonhomiein his voice in keeping with his ample girth, "you mustn't giveway like this, my child! What's amiss? Come, sit down here andtell me what's the matter. "

He made her resume her seat by the table and pulled up one of thehorsehair chairs for himself. Nur-el-Din wiped her eyes on a tinylace handkerchief, but continued to sob and shudder at intervals. 

"Marie, my maid, " she said in French in a broken voice, "joinedme here to-day. She has told me of this dreadful murder!"

Desmond stiffened to attention. His mind swiftly reverted to thelast woman he had seen cry, to Barbara Mackwayte discovering theloss of the package entrusted to her charge by the woman who satbefore him. 

"What murder?" he asked, striving to banish any trace of interestfrom his voice. He loathed the part he had to play. The dancer'sdistress struck him as genuine. 

"The murder of Monsieur Mackwayte, " said Nur-el-Din, and hertears broke forth anew. 

"I have read of this in the newspapers, " said Desmond. "Iremember you told me he was a friend of yours. "

Briefly, with many sobs, the dancer told him of the silver boxwhich she had entrusted to Barbara Mackwayte's charge. 

"And now, " she sobbed, "it is lost and all my sacrifice, all myprecautions, have been in vain!"

"But how?" asked Desmond. "Why should you think this box shouldhave been taken? From what I remember reading of this case in theEnglish newspapers there was a burglary at the house, but thethief has been arrested and the property restored. You have onlyto ask this Miss--what was the name? ah! yes, Mackwayte for yourbox 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 Arthurmurdered him to get my silver box. "

"But, " objected Desmond, "a silver box! What value has a triflingobject like that? My dear young lady, murder is not done for asilver box!"

"No, no, " Nur-el-Din repeated, "you don't understand! You don'tknow what that box contained!"

Then she relapsed into silence, plucking idly at the shred ofcambric she held between her fingers. 

Already dusk was falling and the room was full of shadows. Thegolden radiance of the afternoon had died and eerie wraiths offog were peering-in at the window. 

Desmond held his peace. He felt he was on the threshold of aconfession that might rend the veil of mystery surrounding themurder at Seven Kings. He stared fixedly at the ugly redtablecloth, conscious that the big eyes of the girl weresearching his face. 

"You have honest eyes, " she said presently. "I told you that oncebefore... 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 reliefthat, for once, he had been able to speak the truth. 

"I want a friend, " the girl resumed wearily, "someone that I cantrust. But I look around and I find no one. You serve the GermanEmpire, do you not?"

Desmond bowed. 

"But not the House of Hohenzollern?" the girl cried, her voicetrembling with passion. 

"I am not of the Emperor's personal service, if that is what youmean, madame, " Desmond returned coldly. 

"Then, since you are not altogether an iron Prussian, " Nur-el-Dinresumed eagerly, "you can differentiate. You can understand thatthere is a difference between working for the cause of Germanyand for the personal business of her princes. "

"But certainly, " answered Desmond, "I am not an errand boy noryet a detective. I regard myself as a German officer doing hisduty on the front. We have many fronts besides the Western andthe Eastern. England is one. 

"Ah, " exclaimed the girl, clasping her hands together and lookingat him with enraptured eyes, "I see you understand! My friend, Iam much tempted to make a confidant of you!"

Desmond looked at her but did not speak. Again he felt thatsilence was now his only role. He tried hard to fix his mind onhis duty; but the man in him was occupied with the woman wholooked so appealingly at him. 

"... But if I do, " the girl went on and her voice was hurried andanxious, "you must swear to me that you will respect myconfidence, that you will not betray me to the others and thatyou will, if need be, protect me. "

Seeing that Desmond remained silent, she hastened to add:

"Believe me, what I ask you to do is not in opposition to yourduty. My friend, for all my surroundings, I am not what I seem. Pate has drawn me into the system of which you form part; but, believe me, I know nothing of the service to which you andMortimer and the rest belong!"

She spoke with painful earnestness and in a tone so mournful thatDesmond felt himself profoundly moved. "If only she is notacting!" he thought, and sought to shake himself free from thespell which this girl seemed able to cast about him at will. 

"Promise me that you will respect my confidence and help me!" shesaid and held out her hand. 

Desmond's big hand closed about hers and he felt an odd thrill ofsympathy with her as their hands met. 

"I promise!" he said and murmured to himself something very likea 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 smileflitted across her face. "Very soon I may call upon you to makegood your words!"

"I promise!" he repeated--and his eyes never left hers. 

"Then, " she cried passionately, "find out who has stolen for theCrown Prince the Star of Poland at the price of the life of aharmless old man!"

"The Star of Poland!" repeated Desmond. "What is the Star ofPoland?"

The girl drew herself up proudly and there was a certain dignityabout her manner as she answered. 

"I am a Pole, " she said, "and to us Poles, the Star of Poland hasstood for centuries as a pledge of the restoration of ourlong-lost kingdom. It was the principal jewel of the PolishCoronation sword which vanished many hundreds of years ago--inthe thirteenth century, one of my compatriots once told me--andit was one of the most treasured national possessions in theChateau of our great king, John Sobieski at Villanoff, outsideWarsaw. My friend, I am not religious, and since my childhood Ihave renounced the ancient faith of my fathers, but, when I thinkof the extraordinary chain of circumstances by which thistreasure came into my possession, I almost believe that God haschosen me to restore this gem to the King of an independentPoland. 

"Four years ago I was in the United States, a very humble dancerin vaudeville of the third or fourth class. When I was appearingat Columbus, Ohio, I met a German, a man who had been an officerin the Prussian Guard but had come to grief and had been forcedto emigrate. 

"This man's name was Hans von Schornbeek. Like so many Germanofficers who go to America, in his time he had beeneverything--waiter, lift-man, engine-driver and heaven knows whatelse, but when I met him he was apparently well-off. It was onlylater on that I knew he was one of your principal secret agentsin America. 

"He praised my talents highly and offered to furnish the capitalto start me as an Oriental dancer with a large company of my own. There was only one condition attaching to his offer, a condition, ma foi! which was not disagreeable to me. It was that, after sixmonths tour in the States and Canada, I should go to Brussels andsettle down there in a house that Herr von Schornbeek wouldpresent me with. 

"Mon ami, in those days, I understood nothing at all ofdiplomacy. I knew only that I was often hungry and that I had alittle talent which, were it given a chance, might keep me fromwant. Herr von Schornbeek fulfilled his promises to me. I had mycompany, I did my tour of America and Canada with great successand finally I came to Europe and made my debut at Brussels. 

"I knew Brussels already from the old days. As a half-starved, unhappy child with a troupe of acrobats, I had often appearedthere. But now I came to Brussels as a conqueror. A beautifulvilla in the suburb of Laeken was ready to receive me and I foundthat a large credit had been opened in my name at one of theprincipal banks so that I could keep open house. 

"I think I scarcely realized then the role that I was destined tofill by the German Secret Service. In all my life before, I hadnever been happy, I had never ceased to struggle for my bareexistence, I had never had pretty clothes to wear, and motor-carsand servants of my own. "

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

"Light the lamp!" she begged, "I do not like the dark!"

Desmond struck a match and kindled an oil lamp, which stood onthe sideboard. 

"Ah! my friend, " the girl resumed. "I took my fill of life withboth hands. The year was 1913. Now I know that I was one of theGerman agents for the penetration of Belgium in preparation ofwhat was coming. My mission was to make friends among theBelgians and the French and the cosmopolitan society of Brusselsgenerally, and invite them to my house where your people werewaiting to deal with them. 

"My pretty villa became the rendezvous for half the rascals ofEurope, men and women, who used to meet there with all kinds ofmysterious Germans. Sometimes there was a scandal. Once a BelgianColonel was found shot in the billiard-room; they said it wassuicide and the thing was hushed up, but dame! now that I knowwhat I know... 

"Enfin! I shut my eyes to it all... It was none of my business... And I revelled in my robes, my dancing, my new life of luxury!

"And then the war came. I was at Laeken, resting after a visit toRome. There was a lot of talk about the war amongst the peoplewho came to my house, but I did not see how it could affect me, an artiste, and I never read the newspapers. My German friendsassured me that, in a little while, the German army would be atBrussels; that, if I remained quietly at home, all would be well. They were very elated and confident, these German friends ofmine. And rightly; for within a few weeks the Germans entered thecity and a General quartered himself in my villa. It was he whobrought the Crown Prince to see me. 

"Mon cher, you know this young man and his reputation. I am notexcusing myself; but all my life had been spent up to then in thebas-fonds of society. I had never known what it was to be courtedand admired by one who had the world at his feet. Parbleu! onedoes not meet a future Emperor every day!

"Enfin! the Prince carried me with him back to Metz, where he hadhis headquarters. He was very epris with me, but you know histemperament! No woman can hold him for more than a few weeks, vain and weak and arrogant as he is. But pardon! I was forgettingthat you are a good German. I fear I offend yoursusceptibilities... "

Desmond laughed drily. 

"Madame, " he said, "I hope I have preserved sufficient liberty ofjudgment to have formed my own opinion about our futuresovereign. Most Germans have... "

"Alors, " she broke in fiercely, her voice shaking with passion, "you know what an ignoble canaille is this young man, withouteven enough decency of feeling to respect the troops of whom hehas demanded such bloody sacrifices. At Metz we were near enoughto the fighting to realize the blood and tears of this war. Butthe Prince thought of nothing, but his own amusement. To live ashe did, within sound of the guns, with parties every night, womenand dancing and roulette and champagne suppers--bah! c'etait tropfort! It awakened in me the love of country which lies dormant inall of us. I wanted to help my country, lest I might sink as lowas he... "

"One day the Prince brought a young officer friend of his to dinewith me. This officer had come from the Eastern front and hadbeen present at the capture of Warsaw. After dinner he took aleather case out of his pocket and said to the Prince: 'I havebrought your Imperial Highness a little souvenir from Poland!' Ashe spoke he touched a spring and the case flew open, displayingan enormous diamond, nearly as big as the great Orloff diamondwhich I have seen at Petrograd, surrounded by five otherbrilliants, the whole set like a star. 

"'The Star of Poland, ' said the young officer (the Prince calledhim 'Erich;' I never heard his full name), 'it comes from thelong-lost Coronation sword of the Polish kings. I took it foryour Imperial Highness from the Chateau of John Sobieski atVillanoff. 

"I could not take my eyes off the gem. As the Prince held it downunder the lamp to study it, it shone like an electric light. Ihad met many of my fellow countrymen in America and I had oftenheard 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 prettytrinket, thanks to our stout German blows, will they, Erich?'

"And his friend replied:

"'We'll give them a nice new German constitution instead, yourImperial Highness!'

"The Prince, as I have said, was very merry that night. He let metake the jewel from its case and hold it in my hands. Then Ifastened it in my hair before the mirror and turned to showmyself to the Prince and his companion. 

"'Donnerwetter! said Willie. 'It looks wonderful in your hair, Marcelle!'

"Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he cried:

"'Erich! What do you say, Marcelle is a Pole. She shall have theStar of Poland and wear it in memory of me!'

"The other thought this a famous idea, and so the jewel passedinto my hands. That same evening I resolved that it should be asacred duty on my part to keep it in safety until I could hand itback to the lawful sovereign of an independent Poland. 

"I was very unhappy at Metz until the Star of Poland came tocomfort me. When I was alone, I used to take it from its case andfeast my eyes upon it. I made many attempts to get away, but thePrince would never let me go, though he had long since tired ofme 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, " shecontinued. "Long-suffering wife as she is, the stories that cameto her ears from Metz were such that she went to the Emperor anddeclared that she would insist upon a divorce. There was a greatscandal. The Prince's headquarters were moved and at length I gotmy release. 

"I had no money. This was a detail which the Prince overlooked. But I wanted to resume my stage work, so, with great difficulty, through the influence of the Prince, I obtained a passport toHolland and from there got across to England. 

"I had hoped to turn my back once and for all on my connectionwith the Prince. But your German Secret Service had been warnedabout me. The Imperial Authorities were obviously afraid that Imight tell tales out of school. Scarcely had I arrived in Londonwhen a man who called himself Bryan Mowbury, but who looked andspoke like a German, came to see me and said he had beeninstructed to 'look after me. ' What that meant, I was soon todiscover. In a very few days I found that I was under thesupervision of your Secret Service here. In fact, Mowbury gave meto understand that any indiscretion on my part as to my stay atMetz would result in my immediate denunciation to the Englishpolice as a spy. 

"My friend, I had no alternative. I am not German; I am notEnglish; I am a Pole. I have good friends in Germany, I have goodfriends in England, and their quarrels are not mine. I held mypeace about the past and submitted to the incessant watch whichMowbury and his friends kept on my movements. 

"And then one day I had a letter. It was from Count Plettenbach, the Crown Prince's aide-de-camp, as I knew by the hand-writing, for it was signed with an assumed name. In this letter the Count, 'on behalf of a mutual friend, ' as he put it, requested me tohand back to a certain Mr. Mortimer, his accreditedrepresentative, 'Erich's present. ' There were cogent reasons, itwas added, for this unusual request. 

"I sent no reply to that letter, although an address inSwitzerland was given to which an answer might be despatched. Iwas resolved, come what may, not to part with the Star of Poland. When Mortimer came, five days later, I told him the jewel was notmine to hand over, that it was part of the regalia of Poland andthat I would never give it up. 

"Mortimer replied that the German and Austrian Governments haddecided to restore the independence of Poland, that probably anAustrian Archduke would be made king and that it was essentialthat the Star of Poland should be restored in order to include itin the regalia for the Coronation. But I knew what thisAustro-German kingdom of Poland was to be, a serf state with nota shadow of that liberty for which every Pole is longing. Since Ihave been in England, I have kept in touch with the Polishpolitical organizations in this country. Rass, as he callshimself, the landlord of this inn, is one of the most prominentof the Polish leaders in England. 

"Mortimer reasoned with me in vain and finally went awayempty-handed. But he did not abandon hope. Four successiveattempts were made to get the jewel away from me. Twice myapartments at the Nineveh Hotel were rifled; once mydressing-room at the theatre was entered and searched whilst Iwas on the stage. But I wore the jewel day and night in a littlebag suspended by a chain from my neck and they never got it fromme. 

"Two days before I came down to your house--it was the day beforethe murder--I was hustled by a group of men as I came out of thetheatre. Fortunately the stage-door keeper came up unexpectedlyand the men made off. But the encounter frightened me, and Iresolved to break my contract with the Palaceum and bury myselfdown here in the country. 

"But somehow Mortimer learnt of my intention. The next night--itwas the night of the murder--he came to the theatre and warned meagainst trying to elude his vigilance by flight. I have neverforgotten his words. 

"'I can afford to wait, ' he said, 'for I shall get what I want: Ialways do. But you have chosen to set yourself against me and youwill bitterly repent it!"

As though the recollection proved too much for her, Nur-el-Dinbroke off her narrative and covered her face with her hands. 

"And do you think that Mortimer did this murder?" asked Desmondgently. 

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 safedeposits? Surely it was risky to have entrusted it to a girl ofwhom you knew nothing?"

"My friend, ", said the dancer, "I was desperate. Mortimer seesand knows all. This unexpected meeting with the daughter of myold friend seemed at the moment like a heaven-sent chance toplace the jewel, unknown to him, in safe hands. I felt that aslong as I carried it on me, my life was in constant danger. Itwas only to-day, when I heard of the murder, that it dawned on mehow indiscreet I had been. I might have guessed, since MissMackwayte knew Mortimer--"

"Miss Mackwayte knows Mortimer?" echoed Desmond in stupefaction. 

"But certainly, " replied Nur-el-Din. "Was it not I myself--" Shebroke off suddenly with terror in her eyes. 

"Ah, no!" she whispered. "It is enough. Already I have said toomuch... "

Desmond was about to speak when the door opened and aforeign-looking maid, whom Desmond remembered to have seen in thedancer's dressing-room, came in. She went swiftly to her mistressand whispered something in her ear. 

The dancer sprang to her feet. 

"A little moment... You will excuse me... " she cried to Desmondand ran from the room. The maid followed her, leaving Desmondalone. 

Presently, the sound of Nur-el-Din's voice raised high in angerstruck on his ears. He stole softly to the door and opened it. Before him lay the staircase deserted. He tiptoed down the stairsto the first landing and listened. The murmur of voices reachedhim indistinctly from the room below. Then he heard Nur-el-Dincrying out again in anger. 

He craned his ear over the well of the staircase, turning hisface to the window which stood on the landing. The window gave ona small yard with a gate over which a lamp was suspended andbeyond it the fen now swathed in fog. The dancer's maid stoodbeneath the lamp in earnest conversation with a man in roughshooting clothes who held a gun under his arm. As Desmond lookedthe man turned his head so that the rays of the lamp fell fullupon his face. To his unspeakable consternation and amazement, Desmond recognized Strangwise. 

CHAPTER XVII. MR. BELLWARD ARRANGES A BRIDGE EVENING

Oblivious of the voices in the room below, Desmond stood with hisface pressed against the glass of the window. Was Strangwisestaying at "The Dyke Inn"? Nothing was more probable; for thelatter had told him that he was going to spend his leave shootingin Essex, and Morstead Fen must abound in snipe and duck. 

But he and Strangwise must not meet. Desmond was chary ofsubmitting his disguise to the other's keen, shrewd eyes. Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din: indeed, the dancer might have come tothe inn to be with him. If he recognized Desmond and imparted hissuspicions to the dancer, the game world be up; on the otherhand, Desmond could not take him aside and disclose his identity;for that would be breaking faith with the Chief. There wasnothing for it, he decided, but flight. 

Yet how could he get away unobserved? There was no exit from thestaircase by the door into the tap-room where Nur-el-Din was, andto go through the tap-room was to risk coming face to face withStrangwise. 

So Desmond remained where he was by the window and watched. Presently, the woman turned and began to cross the yard, Strangwise, carrying his gun, following her. Desmond waited untilhe heard a door open somewhere below and then he acted. 

Beside the window ran an old lead water-pipe which drained theroof above his head. On a level with the sill of the landingbelow, this pipe took a sharp turn to the left and ran diagonallydown to a tall covered-in water-butt that stood on the fiat roofof an outhouse in the little yard. 

Desmond raised the window very gently and tested the pipe withhis hand. It seemed rather insecure and shook under his pressure. With his eye he measured the distance from the sill to the pipe;it was about four feet. Desmond reckoned that, if the pipe wouldhold, by getting out of the window and hanging on to the sill, hemight, by a pendulum-like motion, gain sufficient impulse toswing his legs across the diagonally-running pipe, then transferhis hands and so slide down to the outhouse roof. 

He wasted no time in debating the chances of the pipe collapsingunder his weight. All his life it had been his practice to take arisk, for such is the Irish temperament--if the object to beattained in any way justified it; and he was determined to avoidat all costs the chance of a meeting with Strangwise. The latterhad probably read the name of Okewood in that morning's casualtylist, but Desmond felt more than ever that he distrusted the man, and his continued presence in the neighborhood of Nur-el-Dingravely preoccupied him. 

He stood a moment by the open window and listened. The murmur ofvoices went on in the taproom, but from another part of the househe heard a deep laugh and knew it to be Strangwise's. Trusting toProvidence that the roof of the outhouse would be out of sight ofthe yard door, Desmond swung his right leg over the window-silland followed it with the other, turning his back on the yard. Thenext 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 perfectlystill. The strain on his arms was tremendous. If Strangwiseshould go as far as the gate, so as to get clear of the yard, hemust infallibly see that figure clinging to the window-sill. 

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

"Rufus! Rufus!"

Desmond made a supreme effort to support the strain on hismuscles. The veins stood out at his temples and he felt the bloodsinging in his ears. Another minute and he knew he must drop. Heno longer had the power to swing himself up to the window ledgeagain. 

A bark rang out in the courtyard, followed by the patter of feet. Desmond heard Strangwise speak to the dog and reenter the house. Then silence fell again. With a tremendous effort Desmond swunghis legs athwart the pipe, gripped it with his right hand, thenhis left, and very gently commenced to let himself down. The pipequivered beneath his weight, but it held fast and in a minute hewas standing on the roof of the outhouse, cautiously peeringthrough the dank fog that hung about the yard. 

Screening himself from view behind the tall waterbutt, hereconnoitred the back of the inn. The upper part of the house wasshrouded in darkness, but a broad beam of light from a half-opendoor and a tall window on the ground floor cleft the pall of fog. The window showed a snug little bar with Strangwise standing bythe counter, a glass in his hand. As Desmond watched him, heheard a muffled scream from somewhere within the house. Strangwise heard it too, for Desmond saw him put his glass downon the bar and raise his head sharply. There followed a dullcrash from the interior of the inn and the next moment theyellow-faced man, whom Desmond judged to be Rass, stepped intothe circle of light inside the window. He said something toStrangwise with thumb jerked behind him, whereupon the latterclapped him, as though in approval, on the shoulder, and bothhurried out together. 

Puzzled though he was by the scene he had just witnessed, Desmonddid not dare to tarry longer. The roof of the outhouse was onlysome ten feet from the ground, an easy drop. He let himselfnoiselessly down and landing on his feet without mishap, dartedout of the yard gate. As he did so, he heard the inn door openand Strangwise's voice cry out:

"Who's that?"

But Desmond heeded not. He dashed out upon the fen. Before he hadgone a dozen paces the fog had swallowed up inn and all. Out ofthe white pall behind him he heard confused shouts as he skirtedswiftly round the house and reached the road. 

Once he had gained the freedom of the highway; Desmond breathedagain. The dense fog that enveloped him, the hard road beneathhis feet, gave him a sense of security that he had missed as longas he was in the atmosphere of that lonely, sinister place. Hestruck out at a good pace for home, intent upon one thing, namely, to send an immediate summons for help to surround theDyke Inn and all within it. Nur-el-Din, it was clear, whether aspy or no (and Desmond believed her story), was the only personwho could throw any light on the mysterious circumstancessurrounding old Mackwayte's murder. Besides, her arrest wouldsafeguard her against further machinations on the part ofMortimer, though Desmond suspected that the latter, now that hehad secured the jewel, would leave the dancer in peace. As forStrangwise, it would be for him to explain as best he could hiscontinued association with a woman for whose arrest a warrant hadbeen issued. 

Desmond let himself in with his key. The housekeeper had returnedand was laying the dinner-table. In the library the curtains weredrawn and a fire burned brightly in the grate. The room lookedvery snug and cosy by contrast with the raw weather outside. 

Desmond shut and locked the door and then went to the telephoneat the desk. "Ring up 700 Stanning"--he repeated his instructionsto himself "and ask for Mr. Elias. Assistance'll be with youwithin fifteen minutes afterwards. "

By the clock on the mantelpiece it was a quarter to seven. If aidarrived promptly, with a car they could be at the Dyke Inn by aquarter past seven. 

The telephone gave no sign of life. Desmond impatiently jerkedthe receiver hook up and down. This time, at least, he would notfail, he told himself. Before he went to bed that nightNur-el-Din, her maid, Rass, and if needs be, Strangwise (whoneeded a lesson to teach him discretion), should be in custody. 

Still no reply. 

"Hullo! Hullo!" cried Desmond, depressing the hook repeatedly. "Hullo, Exchange!"

But there was no answer. Then it struck Desmond that the line wasdead: his ear detected none of that busy whirr which is heard inthe telephone when one is waiting to get a number. 

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

"I shall have to take the motor-bike and go over to Stunning, " hesaid to himself, "how I shall find my way there in this fog, theLord only knows! And I don't know whom to apply to when I getthere. The police-station, I suppose!"

He unlocked the door and rang for Martha. 

"I have to go over to Stunning, Martha, " he said, "I will try andbe back for dinner at eight!"

He had no intention of accompanying the party to the Dyke Inn. Hemust preserve his incognito until Mortimer, the main quarry, hadbeen run down. 

He filled his case from the box of cigarettes on the table andthrust 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 outsidethe porch. A man sprang out and advanced into the light streamingfrom the front door into the eddying mist. It was Mortimer. 

"Fortune, " thought Desmond, "has broken her rule. She has givenme a second chance!"

"Well met, Bellward!" cried Mortimer, blinking at the otherthrough his thick glasses. "Tut, tut! What a night! You werenever going out, I swear. "

Already Desmond had decided in his mind the course of action hewould pursue. For the moment he must let the party at the DykeInn slide in favor of the bigger catch. He must slip away laterand have another try at the telephone and if it were still out oforder, he must endeavor to overpower Mortimer and then go forassistance himself. On a night like this it was useless to thinkof 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 duskevery evening. 

So Desmond muttered some plausible lie about wanting to have alook at the weather and cordially invited Mortimer in. 

"You will stay for dinner" he said. 

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

Desmond raised his eyebrows. 

"... Because, " Mortimer resumed, "I have ventured to ask a fewfriends round here to... To have an evening at bridge. Doubtless, you have cards, eh?"

Desmond pointed to a card-table standing in the corner withseveral packs of cards and markers. Then he rang and told thehousekeeper that they would dine as soon as possible. 

"The coming fortnight, " said Mortimer, tucking his napkin intohis collar as they sat at the dinner table, "is pregnant withgreat events. No less than ten divisions are, I understand, to betransferred to the other side. I have waited to communicate withyou until I had confirmation of this report. But now that thematter has been decided, it only remains for us to perfect ourarrangements for communicating these plans to our friends beyondthe North Sea. Therefore, I thought a friendly bridge evening atthe hospitable home of our dear colleague Bellward would be inplace. "

He smiled affably and bent over his soup-plate. 

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

"Thank you, " said Mortimer. 

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

Mortimer reckoned on his fingers. 

"Let's see, " he answered, "there's Max, that's one, and MadameMalplaquet, that's two. No. 13 and Behrend makes four and myself, five!"

"And Madame Nur-el-Din?" queried Desmond innocently, but inwardlyquaking at his rashness. 

Mortimer genially shook a finger at him. 

"Sly dog!" he chuckled, "you're one too many for me in thatquarter, I see! I know all about your tete-a-tete with ourcharming young friend this afternoon!"

Desmond felt the blood rush to his face. He thought ofNur-el-Din's words: "Mortimer sees and knows all. " He picked uphis sherry glass and drained it to cover his confusion. 

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

How much did this uncanny creature know?

Without waiting for him to reply, Mortimer went on. 

"I suppose she told you a long story of my persecution, eh, Bellward? You needn't shake your head. I taxed her with it andshe admitted as much. "

"I had no idea that you were staying at the Dyke Inn!" saidDesmond at a venture. 

"My friend, " replied Mortimer, lowering his voice, "your faircharmer is showing a decided inclination to make a nuisance ofherself. I have had to keep an eye on her. It's been a veryserious inconvenience to my plans, I can assure you. But youhaven't answered my question. What sent you away in such a hurrythis afternoon? and in so romantic a fashion? By the window, wasit not?"

Through sheer apprehension, Desmond was now keyed up to a kind ofdesperate audacity. The truth is sometimes a very effectiveweapon in the game of bluff, and Desmond determined to employ it. 

"I saw someone I didn't want to meet, " he replied. 

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

The entry of old Martha to change the plates prevented Desmondfrom replying. He used the brief respite to review the situation. He would tell Mortimer the truth. They were man to man now and hecared nothing even if the other should discover the fraud thathad been practised upon him. Come what might, Mortimer, dead oralive, should be delivered up to justice that night. 

The housekeeper left the room and Desmond spoke. 

"I saw an officer I knew in the courtyard, " he said. 

"Oh, Strangwise, I suppose!" said Mortimer carelessly. "There'snothing to fear from him, Bellward. He's of the beef and beer andno brains stamp of British officer. But how do you knowStrangwise?"

"I met him at the Nineveh Hotel in town one night, " repliedDesmond. "I don't care about meeting officers, however, andthat's a fact!"

Mortimer looked at him keenly for a brief instant. "Whatprudence!" he cried. "Bellward, you are the very model of what asecret agent should be! This pheasant is delicious!"

He turned the conversation into a different channel but Desmondcould not forget that brief searching look. His mind was in aturmoil of half-digested facts, of semi-completed deductions. Hewanted to go away somewhere alone and think out this mystery anddisentangle each separate web of this baffling skein of intrigue. 

He must focus his attention on Mortimer and Nur-el-Din. IfMortimer and Strangwise were both staying at the Dyke Inn, thenthey were probably acquainted. Strangwise knew Nur-el-Din, too, knew her well; for Desmond remembered how familiarly they hadconversed together that night in the dancer's dressing-room atthe Palaceum. Strangwise knew Barbara Mackwayte also. Nur-el-Dinhad introduced them, Desmond remembered, on that fateful nightwhen he had accompanied Strangwise to the Palaceum. Strange, howhe was beginning to encounter the man Strangwise at every turn inthis 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. Heremembered how she had told him of seeing Nur-el-Din's face inthe mirror as the dancer was talking to Strangwise that night atthe Palaceum, and of the look of terror in the girl's eyes. Nur-el-Din was terrified of Mortimer; for so much she hadadmitted to Desmond that very afternoon; she was terrified ofStrangwise, too, it seemed, of this Strangwise who, likeMortimer, kept appearing at every stage of this bewilderingaffair. What confession had been on Nur-el-Din's lips when shehad broken off that afternoon with the cry:

"Already I have said too much!"

Thereafter Desmond's eyes were never long absent from Mortimer'sface, scrutinizing each feature in turn, the eyes, set ratherclose together, grotesquely shielded by the thick spectacles, thenarrow cheeks, the rather cynical mouth half hidden by the heavy, drooping moustache, the broad forehead broken by a long lock ofdark hair brushed out flat in a downward direction from anuntidy, unkempt crop. 

They talked no more of Strangwise or of Nur-el-Din. The rest ofdinner was passed in conversation of a general order in which Mr. Mortimer showed himself to great advantage. He appeared to be awidely traveled, well-read man, with a fund of dry, often rathergrim humor. And all the time Desmond watched, watched, unobtrusively but unceasingly, looking out for something he wasconfident of detecting through the suave, immobile mask of thisbrilliant conversationalist. 

Skillfully, almost imperceptibly, Desmond edged the talk on tothe war. In this domain, too, Mortimer showed himself a man ofbroad views, of big, comprehensive ideas. Towards the strategyand tactics of the two sides, he adopted the attitude of animpartial onlooker, but in his comments he proved himself to havea thorough grasp of the military situation. He talked freely andably of such things as tanks, the limited objective in the attackand the decentralization of responsibility in the field. 

Encouraged by his volubility, for he was a man who delighted inconversation, Desmond gradually gave the talk a personal turn. But willing as Mortimer showed himself to discuss the wargenerally, about his personal share he was as mute as a fish. Tryas he would Desmond could get nothing out of him. Again andagain, he brought the conversation round to personal topics; butevery time his companion contrived to switch it back to generallines. 

At last Desmond risked a direct question. By this time a pint ofPommery and Greno was tingling in his veins and he felt he didn'tcare if the roof fell in. 

"Ever since Nur-el-Din told me yon were of the Crown Prince'spersonal service, " he said, "I have been devoured with curiosityto know what you were doing before you came to England. Were youat Metz with his Imperial Highness? Did you see the assault atVerdun? Were you present at the capture of the Fort ofDouaumont?"

Mortimer shook his head, laughing, and held up a deprecatinghand. 

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

Then lowering his voice, he added:

"Between ourselves the less said about my connection with MasterWillie the better. Our colleagues are already restless at whatthey consider my neglect of my professional work. They attributeit to the wiles of Nur-el-Din. They may if they like and I don'tpropose to disillusion them. You understand, Bellward?"

His voice was commanding and he bent his brows at Desmond, whohastened to protest that his discretion in the matter would beabsolute. 

When they had had their coffee and Mortimer was contentedlypuffing one of Bellward's excellent double Coronas, Desmond rosefrom the table. 

"If you will excuse me a minute, " he said, "I will just go acrossto the library and see if my housekeeper has put all in order forour guests!"

Instantly Mortimer got up from the table. 

"By all means, " he said, and emptied his glass of brandy, "so, Iwill come with you!"

Mortimer meant to stick to him, thought Desmond; that wasevident. Then an idea struck him. Why should he not telephone inMortimer's presence? To ask for Mr. Elias was in no wayincriminating and if help came promptly, Mortimer could besecured and the other spies pounced upon in their turn as theyarrived. 

Therefore, as soon as they reached the library, Desmond walkedover to the desk and picked up the telephone receiver from itshook. 

"Excuse me, " he said to Mortimer, "I had forgotten I had to ringup Stanning!"

"Oh, dear, " said Mortimer from his place on the hearth rug wherehe was warming his coat tails in front of the fire, "isn't thatunfortunate? I wish I had known! Tut, tut, how annoying for you!"

The telephone seemed quite dead. 

"I don't understand!" said Desmond to Mortimer. "What'sannoying?"

"The telephone, my dear Bellward, "--Mortimer spoke in a pompousvoice--"the telephone is the symbol of the age in which we live, the age of publicity but also of indiscretion. It is almost asindiscreet to have a telephone in your house as to keep a diary. Therefore, in view of our little party here this evening, toprevent us from being disturbed in any way, I took the libertyof... Of severing the connection... Temporarily, mind you, onlytemporarily; it shall be restored as soon as we break up. I havesome small acquaintance with electrical engineering. "

Desmond was silent. Disappointment had deprived him for themoment 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 gangthat night, he must do it on his own. He could not hope for aid. The prospect did not affright him. If Mortimer could have seenthe other's eyes at that moment he might have remarked a lightdancing in them that was not solely of Messrs. Pommery andGreno's manufacture. 

"If I had known you wanted to use the instrument, my dearfellow, " Mortimer continued in his bland voice, "I shouldcertainly have waited until you had done your business!"

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

Mortimer shot a sudden glance at him. Desmond met it with afrank, easy smile. 

"I'm a devil for prudence myself!" he observed brightly. 

CHAPTER XVIII. THE GATHERING OF THE SPIES

Action, or the promise of action, always acted on Desmond Okewoodlike a nerve tonic. His visit to the inn, followed by the fencingwith Mortimer at dinner, had galvanized his nerves jaded with theinaction of the preceding days. He averted his eyes from thefuture, he put the past resolutely away. He bent his wholeattention on the problem immediately before him--how to carry offthe role of Bellward in front of four strangers, one of whom, atleast, he thought, must know the man he was impersonating; how toextract as much information as possible about the gang and itsorganization before uncovering his hand; finally, how tooverpower the four men and the one woman when the moment had cometo strike. 

Mortimer and he were in the library. By Desmond's direction oldMartha had put out two bridge tables and cards. A tantalus standwith siphons and glasses, an assortment of different coloredliqueurs in handsome cut-glass carafes and some plates ofsandwiches stood on a side-table. At Mortimer's suggestionDesmond had told the housekeeper that, once the guests hadarrived, she might go to bed. 

The library was very still. There was no sound except for thesolemn ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece or the occasionalrustle of the evening paper in Mortimer's hand as he stood infront of the fire. Desmond was sitting on the settee, tranquillysmoking, studying Mortimer and thinking out the problem beforehim. 

He measured Mortimer with his eye. The latter was a bigger manthan Desmond in every way and Desmond suspected that he was evenstronger than he looked. Desmond wondered whether he should tryand overpower him then and there. The other was almost certain tocarry a revolver, he thought, while he was unarmed. Failure, heknew, would ruin everything. The gang would disperse to the fourwinds of heaven while as for Mr. Bellward--well, he wouldcertainly be "for it, " as the soldiers say. 

No, he must hold his hand until the meeting had taken place. Thiswas the first conference that Mortimer had summoned, and Desmondintended to see that it should be the last. But first he meant tofind out all there was to know about the working of the gang. 

He resolved to wait and see what the evening would bring forth. The telephone was "a washout": the motor-cycle was now his onlychance to summon aid for he knew it was hopeless to think oftackling single-handed odds of four to one (to say nothing of thelady in the case). It must be his business to make an opportunityto slip away on the motor-bike to Stanning. Ten minutes to getthere, five minutes to deliver his message at the police station(if the Chief's people made their headquarters there), and tenminutes to get back if they had a car. Could he leave the meetingfor 25 minutes without arousing suspicions? He doubted it; but itmust be. There was no other way. And then with a shock that madehim cold with fear he remembered Mortimer's motor-car. 

If, during his absence, anything occurred to arouse theirsuspicions, the whole crowd could pile into the car and be awaylong before Desmond could be back with help. The fog had liftedand it was a clear night outside. The car would have to be gotrid of before he left the house, that was all about it. But how?A means to that end must also be discovered as the eveningprogressed. By the way, what had Mortimer done with his car?

A very faint throbbing somewhere outside answered Desmond'sunspoken question. 

Mortimer flung aside his paper. 

"Isn't that a car?" he asked, "that'll be they. I sent Max toWentfield station to meet our friends!"

There was the sound of voices, of bustle in the hall. Then thedoor opened and a man came in. Desmond had a brief moment ofacute suspense. Was he supposed to know him?

He was a short, ugly fellow with immensely broad shoulders, aheavy puffy face, a gross, broad nose, and a tooth-brushmoustache. He might have been a butcher to look at. In the topedge of his coat lapel, he wore a small black pin with a glasshead. 

"Well, Max, " said Mortimer. "Have you brought them all?"

The man was mustering Desmond with a suspicious, unfriendlystare. 

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

And to Desmond's surprise he made some passes in the air. 

The man's mien underwent a curious change. He became cringing;almost overawed. 

"Reelly, " he grunted, "reelly now! You don't siy! Glad to knowyer, mister, I'm shore!"

He spoke with a vile snuffing cockney accent, and thrust out hishand to Desmond. Then he added to Mortimer:

"There's three on 'em. That's the count, ain't it? I lef' the caroutside on the drive!"

At this moment two more of the guests entered: One was a tall, emaciated looking man of about fifty who seemed to be in the laststages of consumption; the other a slightly built young fellowwith a shock of black hair brushed back and an olive complexion. He wore pince-nez and looked like a Russian revolutionary. They, too, wore the badge of the brotherhood--the black pin in the coatlapel. 

"Goot efening, Mr. Mortimer, " said the tall man in a gutturalvoice, "this is Behrend"--he indicated the young man by hisside--"you haft not meet him no?"

Then, leaving Behrend to shake hands with Mortimer, he literallyrushed at Desmond and shook him by the hand exactly as though hewere working a pump handle. 

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

He lowered his voice and gazed mysteriously at him. 

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

"The powers? Still fighting, I believe!"

The tall man stared open-mouthed at him for a moment. Then, clapping his hands together, he burst into a high-pitched cackleof laughter. 

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

He looked dramatically about him, then whispered:

"I mean, the oggult!"

Desmond, who was now quite out of his depth, wagged his headsolemnly at the other as though to indicate that, his occultpowers were something not to be lightly mentioned. He had no fearof the tall man, at any rate. He placed him as a very ordinaryGerman, a common type in the Fatherland, simple-minded, pedantic, inquisitive, and a prodigious bore withal but dangerous, for ofthis stuff German discipline kneads militarists. 

But the door opened again to admit the last of the guests. Awoman entered. Desmond was immediately struck by the contrast shepresented to the others, Mortimer with his goggle eyes and untidyhair, Max, gross and bestial, Behrend, Oriental and shifty, andthe scarecrow figure of the tall man. 

Despite her age, which must have been nearly sixty, she stillretained traces of beauty. Her features were very regular, andshe had a pair of piercing black eyes of undimmed brightness. Hergray hair was tastefully arranged, and she wore a becoming blackvelvet gown with a black lace scarf thrown across the shoulders. A white silk rose was fastened to her bodice by a large black pinwith 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 thedevil do you mean by it? You know the rules!"

By way of reply, "No. 13" broke into a regular frenzy of coughingwhich left him gasping for breath. 

"Pardon! I haf' forgot!" he wheezed out between the spasms. 

The woman went over to Mortimer and put out tier gloved hand. 

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

Mortimer bowed low over her hand. 

"Madame, I am charmed to meet one of whom I have heard nothingbut praise, " he said. 

"Verry pretty!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet smiling. "They tell meyou 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... Soyoung... So fresh! I declare you seem to have got five yearsyounger!"

The keen black eyes searched Desmond's face. He felt horriblyuncomfortable. The woman's eyes were like gimlets boring rightinto him. He suddenly felt that his disguise was a poor one. Heremembered Crook's warning to be wary of women, and he inwardlyquailed. 

"I am so glad to meet you again!" he murmured. He didn't likeMrs. Malplaquet's eyes. They assorted strangely with the rest ofher 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 positivelyyour voice seems to have changed. "

"That's because I have a cold, " said Desmond. 

"Fiddlesticks!" retorted the lady, "the timbre is quitedifferent! Bellward, I believe you're in love! Don't tell meyou've been running after that hank of hair that Mortimer is sodevoted to!" She glanced in Mortimer's direction, but thatgentleman was engaged in earnest conversation with Behrend andthe tall man. 

"Whom do you meant" asked Desmond. 

"Where are your eyes, man?" rapped out Mrs. Malplaquet. "Thedancer woman, of course, Nur-el-what-do-you-call-it. There's thedevil of a row brewing about the way our friend over there isneglecting us to run after the minx. They're getting sharp inthis country, Bellward--I've lived here for forty years so I knowwhat I'm talking about--and we can't afford to play any tricks. Mortimer will finish by bringing destruction on every one of us. And I shall tell him so tonight. And so will No. 13! And so willyoung Behrend! You ought to hear Behrend about it!"

Mrs. Malplaquet began to interest Desmond. She was obviously awoman of refinement, and he was surprised to find her in this oddcompany. By dint of careful questioning, he ascertained the factthat she lived in London, at a house on Campden Hill. She seemedto know a good many officers, particularly naval men. 

"I've been keeping my eyes open as I promised, Bellward, " shesaid, "and I believe I've got hold of a likely subject for you--asubmarine commander he is, and very psychic. When will you comeand meet him at my house?"

Mortimer's voice, rising above the buzz of conversation, checkedhis reply. 

"If you will all sit down, " he said, "we'll get down tobusiness. "

Despite all distractions, Desmond had been watching for thissummons. He had marked down for himself a chair close to thedoor. For this he now made, after escorting Mrs. Malplaquet tothe settee where she sat down beside Behrend. Max took thearmchair on the left of the fireplace; while No. 13 perchedhimself grotesquely on a high music-stool, his long legs curledround the foot. Mortimer stood in his former position on thehearth, his back to the fire. 

A very odd-looking band! Desmond commented to himself but hethought he could detect in each of the spies a certain ruthlessfanaticism which experience taught him to respect as highlydangerous. And they all had hard eyes!

When they were seated, Mortimer said:

"About the 14th of this month the British Admiralty will beginthe work of shipping to France ten divisions of American troopsnow training in this country. The most extraordinary precautionsare being taken to complete this huge undertaking with success. It seems to me that the moment has come for us to demonstrate theefficiency of our new organization. "

He looked round at his audience but no one said a word. Desmondfelt very distinctly that there was a hostile atmosphere againstMortimer in that room. 

"I asked you to come here to-night, " Mortimer went on, "todiscuss the plans for sending prompt and accurate informationregarding the movements of these transports to the other side. Iwarn you that this time our mode of procedure will have to beradically different from the methods we have pursued on formeroccasions. To expend our energies in collecting information athalf a dozen different ports of war will be waste of time. Thedirection of the whole of this enterprise lies in the hands ofone 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, themore so as I have reason to believe that the authorities havediscovered the existence of our organization. "

Mrs. Malplaquet and Behrend turned to one another simultaneously. 

"What did I say?" said Behrend. 

"I told you so, " said the lady. 

"Therefore, " Mortimer resumed, "our former activities on thecoast will practically be paralyzed. We shall have to confine ouroperations to London while Max and Mr. Behrend here will beentrusted with the task of getting the news out to oursubmarines. "

No. 13 broke in excitedly. 

"Vork in London, vork in London!" he cried. "It is too dangerous, my vriend. Vot do I know of London? Portsmouth" (he called itPortsmouse), "Sout'ampton, the Isle of Vight... Good... It is myprovince. But, London... It is senseless!"

Mortimer turned his gig-lamps on the interrupter. 

"You will take your orders from me as before, " he said quietly. 

Behrend adjusted his pince-nez. 

"No. 13 is perfectly right, " he remarked, "he knows histerritory, 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 outof his eyes. 

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

"Do you dare... " began Mortimer, shouting. 

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

The atmosphere was getting a trifle heated, thought Desmond. Ifhe judged Mortimer aright, he was not the man to let himself bedictated to by anybody. He was wondering how the scene would endwhen suddenly something caught his eye that took his mind rightaway from the events going forward in the room. 

Opposite him, across the library, was a French window acrosswhich the curtains had been drawn. One of the curtains, however, had got looped up on a chair so that there was a gap at thebottom of the window showing the pane. 

In this gap was a face pressed up against the glass. To hisastonishment Desmond recognized the weather-beaten features ofthe odd man, Mr. John Hill. The face remained there only for abrief instant. The next moment it was gone and Desmond'sattention was once more claimed by the progress of theconference. 

"Do I understand that you refuse to serve under we any longer?"Mortimer was saying to Behrend, who had risen from the settee andstood facing him. 

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

Mortimer made a quick dive for his pocket. In an instant Max hadjumped 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 automaticpistol. It was a prodigious weapon, the largest pistol thatDesmond had ever seen. 

"He threatened him, he threatened him!" screamed No. 13 jumpingabout 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 Desmondwondered whether old Martha would hear the din. He sat in hischair by the door, a silent witness of the scene. Then suddenly, at the height of the hubbub, he heard the faint humming of amotor-car. It lasted for perhaps thirty seconds, then graduallydied away. 

"What did it mean?" he asked himself. The only living being heknew of outside was John Hill, the odd man, whose face he hadjust seen; the only car was Mortimer's. Had the odd man gone offin Mortimer's car? He was thankful to note that, in the din, nonesave him seemed to have heard the car. 

By this time Mortimer had put up his pistol and Mrs. Malplaquetwas speaking. Her remarks were effective and very much to thepoint. She upbraided Mortimer with his long and mysteriousabsences which she attributed to his infatuation for Nur-el-Dinand complained bitterly of the dancer's imprudence in consortingopenly with notorious folk like Lazarro and Bryan Mowbury. 

"I went to the girl myself, " she said, "and begged her to be morecircumspect. But Madame would not listen to advice; Madame wasdoubtless sure of her position with our revered leader, andthought she could reject the friendly counsel of one old enoughto be her mother. Behrend and Max and No. 13 there--all ofus--are absolutely agreed that we are not going on with this sortof thing any longer. If you are to remain in charge of ourorganization, Mr. Mortimer, we want to know where you are to befound and how you spend your time. In short, we want to be surethat you are not playing a game that most of us have at differenttimes played on subordinate agents... I mean, that when thecrisis comes, we fall into the trap and you walk away. You hadbetter realize once and for all that we are too old hands forthat sort of trick. "

Here Max took up the thread. "Mrs. Malplaquet had put it verystrite, so she 'ad, and wot he wanted to know was what Mortimer'ad to siy?"

Mortimer was very suave in his reply; a bad sign, thoughtDesmond, for it indicated that he was not sure of himself. He wasrather vague, spoke about a vitally important mission that he hadhad to fulfil but which he had now brought to a successfulconclusion, so that he was at length free to devote his wholeattention 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 manin 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 sithere and listen to the soft soap of a fellow who has probablysent better men than himself to their death with tripe of thiskind? It may do for you, but by the Lord, it won't do for me!"

Mortimer cleared his throat uneasily. 

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

Desmond spoke up promptly. 

"I think it would be very interesting to hear something furtherabout 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 tellyou of this mission of mine and I shall show you the evidence, because it seems essential in the interests of our organization. But I assure you I shall not forget this want of confidence youhave shown in me; and I shall see that you don't forget it, either!"

As he spoke, he glared fiercely at Desmond through his glasses. 

"Let's hear about the precious mission, " jeered Behrend, "let'ssee the evidence. The threats'll keep!"

Then Mortimer told them of how the Star of Poland came intoNur-el-Din's possession, and of the Crown Prince's embarrassmentwhen the German authorities claimed it for the regalia of the newKingdom of Poland. 

"The Crown Prince, " he said, "summoned me to him in person andgave me the order to make my way to England immediately andrecover the gem at all costs and by any means. Did I whine orsnivel about being sent to my death as some of you were doingjust now? No! That is not the way of the Prussian Guard... "

"The Prussian Guard?" cried No. 13 in an awed voice. "Are you alsoof the Prussian Guard, comrade?"

He had risen from his seat and there was something almost ofmajesty about his thin, ungainly figure as he drew himself to hisfull height. 

"Ay, comrade, I was, " replied Mortimer. 

"Then, " cried No. 13, "you are... "

"No names, comrade, " warned Mortimer, "no names, I beg!"

"No names, no names!" repeated the other and relapsed into hisseat in a reverie. 

"How I got to England, " Mortimer continued, "matters nothing; howI fulfilled my mission is neither here nor there. But I recoveredthe gem and the proof... "

He thrust a hand into the inner pocket of his coat and pluckedout a white paper package sealed up with broad red seals. 

Desmond held his breath. It was the white paper package, exactlyas Barbara had described. 

"Look at it well, Behrend, " said Mortimer, holding it up for theyoung man to see, "it cost me a man's life to get that. If it hadsent twenty men to their death, I should have had it just thesame!"

Mrs. Malplaquet clapped her hands, her eyes shining. 

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

"Cut it out, " snarled Behrend, "and let's see the goods!"

All had left their seats and were gathered in a group aboutMortimer as he began to break the gleaming red wag seals. One byone he burst them, the white paper slipped off and disclosed... Abox of cigarettes. 

Mortimer stood gazing in stupefaction at the gaudy green and goldlettering of the box. Then, running his thumb-nail swiftly alongthe edge of the box, he broke the paper wrapping, the box burstopen and a shower of cigarettes fell to the ground. 

"So that's your Star of Poland, is it?" cried Behrend in amocking voice. 

"Wot 'ave yer done wiv' the sparklers, eh?" demanded Max, catching Mortimer roughly by the arm. 

But Mortimer stood, aimlessly shaking the empty box in front ofhim, as though to convince himself that the gem was not there. Behrend fell on his knees and raked the pile of cigarettes overand over with his fingers. 

"Nothing there!" he shouted angrily, springing to his feet. "It'sall bluff! He's bluffing to the end! See, he doesn't even attemptto find his famous jewel! He knows it isn't there!"

But Mortimer paid no heed. He was staring straight in front ofhim, a strangely woe-begone figure with his thatch of untidy hairand round goggle eyes. Then the cigarette box fell to the floorwith a crash as Mortimer's hands dropped, with, a hopelessgesture, to his sides. 

"Barbara Mackwayte!" he whispered in a low voice, not seeming torealize that he was speaking aloud, "so that's what she wantedwith 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 suddenpremonition that his own unmasking was imminent, though heunderstood as little of the purport of the other's remark as ofthe pile of cigarettes lying on the carpet. As Mortimer turned tolook at him, Desmond nerved himself to meet the latter's gaze. But Mortimer's face wore the look of a desperate man. There wasno recognition in his eyes. 

Not so with Desmond. Perhaps the bitterness of his disappointmenthad made Mortimer careless, perhaps the way in which he hadpronounced Barbara's name struck a familiar chord in Desmond'smemory. The unkempt hair brushed down across the forehead, thethick glasses, the heavy moustache still formed together animpenetrable mask which Desmond's eyes failed to pierce. But nowhe recalled the voice. As Mortimer looked at him, the truthdawned on Desmond and he knew that the man standing beside himwas Maurice Strangwise, his comrade-in-arms in France. 

At that very moment a loud crash rang through the room, a coldblast of damp air came rushing in and the lamp on the tableflared up wildly, flickered an instant and went out, leaving theroom in darkness save for the glow of the fire. 

A deep voice cried:

"May I ask what you are all doing in my house?"

The secret door of the bookshelves had swung back and there, framed in the gaping void, Desmond saw the dark figure of a man. 

CHAPTER XIX. THE UNINVITED GUEST

There are moments in life when the need for prompt action is sourgent that thought, decision and action must be as one operationof the brain. In the general consternation following on thedramatic appearance of this uninvited guest, Desmond had a briefrespite in which to think over his position. 

Should he make a dash for it or stay where he was and awaitdevelopments?

Without a second's hesitation; he decided on the latter course. With the overpowering odds against him it was more than doubtfulwhether he could ever reach the library door. Besides, to go wasto abandon absolutely all hope of capturing the gang; for hisflight would warn the conspirators that the game was up. On theother hand, the new-comer might be an ally, perhaps an emissaryof the Chief's. The strange behavior of the odd man had shownthat something was afoot outside of which those in the librarywere unaware. Was the uninvited guest the deus ex machina who wasto help him, Desmond, out of his present perilous fix?

Meanwhile the stranger had stepped into the room, drawing thesecret door to behind him. Desmond heard his heavy step and thedull thud of the partition swinging into place. The sound seemedto break the spell that hung over the room. 

Mortimer was the first to recover his presence of mind. Cryingout to No. 13 to lock the door leading into the hall, he fumbledfor a moment at the table. Desmond caught the noise of a matchbeing scratched and the next moment the library was again bathedin 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 thedevil... "

He broke off without completing his sentence, drawing back inamazement. For the rays of the lamp fell upon the pale face of astoutish, bearded man, veering towards middle age standing infront of Mortimer. And the face was the face of the stoutish, bearded man, veering towards middle age, who stood in the shadowa few paces behind Mortimer. Each man was a complete replica ofthe other, save that the face of the new arrival was thin andhaggard with that yellowish tinge which comes from longconfinement. 

As Mortimer staggered back, the uninvited guest recoiled in histurn. He was staring fixedly across the room at his double whomet his gaze firmly, erect, tense, silent. The others looked insheer stupefaction from one to the other of the two Mr. Bellwards. For nearly a minute the only sound in the room was thedeep ticking of the clock, counting away the seconds separatinghim from eternity, Desmond thought. 

It was Mrs. Malplaquet who broke the silence. Suddenly her nervessnapped under the strain, and she screamed aloud. 

"A--ah!" she cried, "look! There are two of them! No, no, itcan't be!"

And she sank half fainting on the sofa. 

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

"Is this another of your infernal surprise packets?" he demandedfiercely. 

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 wasguarding the door, had a revolver in his hand, and Behrend, ashas been stated, was threatening Mortimer with his Browning. 

Now Max advanced threateningly into the room, a long seaman'sknife in his hand.. 

"Put that blarsted shooting-iron awiy!" he snarled at Mortimer, "and tell us wot's the little gime, will yer! Come on, egpline!"

With absolute self-possession Mortimer turned from the strangerto Desmond. 

"I think it is up to the twins to explain, " he said almostnonchalantly, "suppose we hear what this gentleman, who arrivedso surprisingly through the book-shelves, has to say?"

Though threatened with danger from two sides, from the gang andpossibly, as far as he knew, from the stranger, Mortimer wasperfectly calm. Desmond never admired Maurice Strangwise morethan in that moment. All eyes now turned questioningly towardsthe new arrival. As for Desmond he drew back as far as he daredinto the shadow. He knew he was in the direst peril; but he wasnot afraid for himself. He was crushed to the ground by thesickening feeling that he was going to be beaten, that the gangwere going to slip through his fingers after all... And he waspowerless to prevent it. 

He guessed at once what had happened. Bellward must have escapedfrom custody; for there was no disguise about this pale, flustered creature who had the cowed look of a hunted man in hiseyes. He must have come to the Mill House to get his motorcycle;for he surely would have known that the villa would be the firstplace to which the police would follow him up. 

Desmond saw a little ray of hope. If--it was a very bigif--Bellward's flight were discovered promptly, the police mightbe expected to reach the Mill House very soon behind him. Bellward must have come straight there; for he had not even takenthe very elementary precaution of shaving off his beard. Thatmade Desmond think that he must have escaped some time thatevening after the barbers' shops were closed. 

With thumping heart, with bated breath, he waited for what was tocome. In a very little while, he told himself, the truth mustcome out. His only chance was to try and bluff his way out ofthis appalling dilemma and above all, at all costs--this was theessential fact which, he told himself, he must keep steadfastlybefore his eyes--not to lose sight of Mortimer whatever happened. 

Bellward's voice--and its tones showed Desmond what anaccomplished mime Crook had been--broke the silence. 

"I have nothing to explain, " he said, turning from the sofa wherehe had been exchanging a few words in an undertone with Mrs. Malplaquet, "this is my house. That is sufficient explanation formy presence here, I imagine. But I confess I am curious to knowwhat this person"--he indicated Desmond--"is doing in my clothes, if I mistake not, giving what I take to be a very successfulimpersonation of myself. "

Then Desmond stepped boldly out of the shadow into the circle oflight thrown by the lamp. 

"I don't know what you all think, " he said firmly, "but it seemsto me singularly unwise for us to stand here gossiping when thereis a stranger amongst us. I fail to understand the motive of thisgentleman in breaking into my house by my private door, wearingmy clothes, if I am to believe my eyes; but I clearly realize thedanger of admitting strangers to a gathering of this kind. "

"Quite right, " agreed Behrend, nodding his head in assent. 

"You have had one singular surprise to-night already, " Desmondresumed, "in the matter of the jewel which our respected leaderwas about to show us: if you recollect, our friend was onlyprevented from giving us the explanation which he certainly owedus over his little hoax by the arrival, the most timely arrival, of his confederate... "

"Confederate?" shouted Mortimer, "what the devil do you mean bythat?"

"Yes, confederate, " Desmond repeated. "Max, Behrend, Mrs. Malplaquet, all of you, look at this wretched fellow"--he pointeda finger of scorn at Bellward--"trembling with fright at the rolethat has been thrust upon him, to force his way into our midst, to give his accomplice the tip to clear out before the policearrive. "

"Stop!" exclaimed Mortimer, raising his pistol. Behrend caughthis hand. 

"We'll hear you in a minute!" he said. 

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

As for Bellward, he remained silent, with arms folded, listeningvery intently. 

"Doubtless, this double of mine, " continued Desmond in a mockingvoice, "is the bearer of the Star of Poland, the wonderful jewelwhich has required our beloved leader to devote so much of histime to a certain charming lady. Bah! are you going to let a manlike this, " and he pointed to Mortimer disdainfully with hishand, "a man who puts you in the fighting line while he amuseshimself in the rear, are you going to let this false friend, thisbogus spy, cheat you like this? My friends, my advice to you, ifyou don't want to have another and yet more disagreeablesurprise, is to make sure that this impudent imposter is not herefor the purpose of selling us all!"

He raised his voice until it rang through the room, at the sametime looking round the group at the faces of the spies to see howhis harangue had worked upon their feelings. Max and Behrend, hecould see, were on his side; No. 13 was obviously, undecided;Mortimer and Bellward were, of course, against him; Mrs. Malplaquet sat with her hands in her lap, her eyes cast down, giving no sign. 

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

"Better hear Bellward!" she said softly. 

"I know nothing of what has been taking place in my absence, " hesaid, "either here or outside. I only know that I escaped fromthe escort that was taking me back from Scotland Yard to BrixtonPrison this evening and that the police are hard on my track. Ihave delayed too long as, it is. Every one of us in this room, with the exception of the traitor who is amongst us"--he pointeda finger in denunciation at Desmond--"is in the most imminentperil as long as we stay here. The rest of you can pleaseyourselves. I'm off!"

He turned and pressed the spring. The book shelves swung open. Behrend sprang forward. 

"Not so fast, " he cried. "You don't leave this room until weknow who you are!"

And he covered him with his pistol. 

"Fool!" exclaimed Bellward who had stopped on the threshold ofthe secret door, "do you want to trap the lot of us! Tell him, Minna, " he said to Mrs. Malplaquet, "and for Heaven's sake, letus be gone!"

Mrs. Malplaquet stood up. 

"This is Basil Bellward, " she said, "see, he's wearing the ring Igave him, a gold snake with emerald eyes! And now, " she cried, raising her voice shrilly, "before we go, kill that man!"

And she pointed at Desmond. 

Bellward had seized her by the arm and was dragging her throughthe opening in the shed when a shrill whistle resounded from thegarden. Without any warning Mortimer swung round and firedpoint-blank at Desmond. But Desmond had stooped to spring at theother and the bullet went over his head. With ears singing fromthe deafening report of the pistol in the confined space, withthe acrid smell of cordite in his nostrils, Desmond leapt atMortimer's throat, hoping to bear him to the ground before hecould shoot again. As he sprang he heard the crash of glass and aloud report. Someone cried out sharply "Oh!" as though insurprise and fell prone between him and his quarry; then hestumbled and at the same time received a crashing blow on thehead. Without a sound he dropped to the ground across a body thattwitched a little and then lay still. 

 * * * * *

Somewhere in the far, far distance Desmond heard a womancrying--long drawn-out wailing lamentations on a high, quaveringnote. He had a dull, hard pain in his head which felt curiouslystiff. Drowsily he listened for a time to the woman's sobbing, sotired, so curiously faint that he scarcely cared to wonder whatit signified. But at last it grated on him by its insistency andhe 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. Buthe was rather surprised to hear a voice reply, a voice that camefrom his own lips, curiously enough:

"Fine!"

So he opened his eyes again to ascertain the meaning of thisphenomenon. This time the ogre-like face came into focus, andDesmond saw a man with a tumbler in his hand bending over him. 

"That's right, " said the man, looking very intently at him, "feela bit better, eh? Got a bit of a crack, what? Just take amouthful of brandy... I've got it here!"

Desmond obediently swallowed the contents of the glass that theother held to his lips. He was feeling horribly weak, and verycold. His collar and shirt were unbuttoned, and his neck andshoulders were sopping wet with water. On his ears still fell thewailing of the woman. 

"Corporal, " said the man bending over him, "just go and tell thatold hag to hold her noise! She'll have to go out of the house ifshe can't be quiet!"

Desmond opened his eyes again. He was lying on the settee in thelibrary. A tall figure in khaki, who had been stirring the firewith his boot, turned at the doctor's summons and left the room. On the table the lamp was still burning but its rays wereneutralized by the glare of a crimson dawn which Desmond couldsee flushing the sky through the shattered panes of the Frenchwindow. In the centre of the floor lay a long object covered by atablecloth, beside it a table overturned with a litter of brokenglass 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 andthe gentlemen a cup o' tea. "

Then, to Desmond, he said:

"Nasty ding you got, sir! My word, I thought they'd done for youwhen I come in at the winder!"

The telephone on the desk tingled sharply. The door opened at thesame moment and a shabby little old man with sandy side whiskersand moleskin trousers came briskly in. 

His appearance had a curious effect on the patient on the settee. Despite the doctor's restraining hand, he struggled into asitting position, staring in bewilderment at the shabby old manwho had gone straight to the telephone and lifted the receiver. And well might Desmond stare; for here was Mr. John Hill, the oddman, 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. Heburst into tears. 

CHAPTER XX. THE ODD MAN

Desmond and Francis Okewood sat in the dining-room of the MillHouse finishing an excellent breakfast of ham and eggs and coffeewhich old Martha had prepared for them. 

Francis was still wearing Mr. John Hill's greasy jacket andmoleskins, but the removal of the sandy whiskers and a remarkablewig, consisting of a bald pate with a fringe of reddish hair, hadgone far to restore him to the semblance of his former self. 

Desmond was feeling a good deal better. His head had escaped thefull force of the smashing blow dealt at him by Strangwise withthe butt of his pistol. He had instinctively put up his arm todefend his face and the thickly padded sleeve of Bellward'sjacket had broken the force of the blow. Desmond had avoided afractured skull at the price of an appalling bruise on the rightforearm and a nasty laceration of the scalp. 

Francis had resolutely declined to enlighten him as to the eventsof the night until both had breakfasted. After despatching thecorporal of military police to hurry the housekeeper on with thebreakfast, Francis had taken his brother straight to thedining-room, refusing to let him ask the questions which throngedhis brain until they had eaten and drunk. Only when all the hamand eggs had disappeared, did Francis, lighting one of Mr. Bellward's cigars, consent to satisfy his brother's curiosity. 

"It was only yesterday morning, " he said, "that I landed atFolkstone from the Continent. How I got the Chief's messagerecalling me and how I made my escape through the Turkish linesto Allenby's headquarters is a long story which will keep. TheChief had a car waiting for me at Folkstone and I reached Londonin time to lunch with him. We had a long talk and he gave mecarte blanche to jump into this business now, when and where Ithought 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 peopleyou had to deal with, Des. , " retorted Francis, "and he was atrifle apprehensive that the role you were playing might lead tocomplications, supposing the gang were to see through yourimpersonation. He's a wonderful man, that, Des. , and he was deadright--as he always is. "

"But how?" asked Desmond. "Did the crowd spot me?"

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

"What?" cried Desmond. "He's escaped after all!"

Francis nodded. 

"Yes, " he said, "got clear away and left no trace. Wait a minuteand you shall hear! When I have told my story, you shall tellyours and between us, we'll piece things together!

"Well, when I left the Chief yesterday, I came down here. Thedescription of Mr. John Hill, your odd man, rather tickled myfancy. I wanted badly to get at you for a quiet chat and itseemed to me that if I could borrow Mr. Hill's appearance for afew hours now and then I might gain access to you without rousingany suspicion. You see, I knew that old Hill left here about duskevery afternoon, so I guessed the coast would be clear. 

"Clarkson's fitted me out with the duds and the make-up and I gotdown to Wentfield by half-past six. The fog was so infernallythick that it took me more than an hour to get here on foot. Itmust have been close on eight o'clock when I pushed open yourfront gate. I thought of going boldly into the kitchen and askingfor you, but, fortunately, I decided to have a preliminary prowlround the place. Through a chink in the curtains of the library Isaw you and a stranger talking together. The stranger was quiteunknown to me; but one thing about him I spotted right off. I sawthat he was disguised; so I decided to hang about a bit and awaitdevelopments. 

"I loafed around in the fog for about half an hour. Then I hearda car coming up the drive. I hid myself in the rhododendron bushopposite the front door and saw two men and a woman get out. Theyhurried into the house, so that I didn't have a chance of seeingtheir faces. But I got a good, glimpse of the chauffeur as hebent down to turn out the headlights. And, yes, I knew him!"

"Max, they called him, " said Desmond. 

"His name was Mirsky when last I saw him, " answered Francis, "andmine was Apfelbaum, if you want to know. He was a German agent inRussia and as ruthless and unscrupulous a rascal as you'll findanywhere in the German service. I must say I never thought he'dhave the nerve to show his face in this country, though I believehe's a Whitechapel Jew born and bred. However, there he was andthe sight of his ugly mug told me that something was doing. Butlike a fool I decided to hang on a bit and watch, instead ofgoing right off in that car and fetching help from Stanning. "

"It was just as well you waited, " said Desmond, "for if you'dgone off at once they must have heard the car and the fat wouldhave been in the fire straight away!"

And he told Francis of the loud dispute among the confederates inthe library, the noise of which had effectually covered the soundof the departing ear. 

Francis laughed. 

"From my observation post outside, " he said, "I could only seeyou, Des, and that blackguard, Mug, as you two were sittingopposite the window. I couldn't see more than the feet of theothers. But your face told me the loud voices which reached meeven outside meant that a crisis of some sort was approaching, soI thought it was time to be up and doing. So I sneaked round tothe front of the house, got the engine of the car going andstarted off down the drive. 

"I had the very devil of a job to get to Stanning. Ever sinceyou've been down here, the Chief has had special men on duty dayand night at the police-station there. I didn't dare stop tolight the head-lamps and as a result the first thing I did was tocharge the front gate and get the back wheel so thoroughly jammedthat it took me the best part of twenty minutes to get theblooming car clear. When at last I got to the station, I foundthat Matthews, the Chief's man, you know, had just arrived by carfrom London with a lot of plain-clothes men and some militarypolice. He was in the very devil of a stew. He told me thatBellward had escaped, that the Chief was out of town for thenight and ungetatable, and that he (Matthews) had come down onhis own to prevent the gaff being blown on you and also torecapture Mr. Bellward if he should be mad enough to make for hisold quarters. 

"I told Matthews of the situation up at the Mill House. Neitherof us was able to understand why you had not telephoned forassistance--we only discovered later that the telephone had beendisconnected--but I went bail that you were up against a verystiff proposition. I told Matthews that, by surrounding thehouse, we might capture the whole gang. 

"Matthews is a cautious cuss and he wanted a good deal ofpersuading, so we lost a lot of time. In the end, he wouldn'ttake my advice to rush every available man to the scene, but onlyconsented to take two plainclothes men and two military police. He was so precious afraid of upsetting your arrangements. TheChief, it appears, had warned everybody against doing that. So weall 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 thehouse on foot. We had arranged that Matthews and one of themilitary police, both armed, should stay and guard the car, whilethe two plainclothes men and the other military policeman, thecorporal here, should accompany me to the house. Matthewsbelieved my yarn that we were only going to 'investigate. ' What Iintended 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 theother round at the back of the house. Their orders were to stopanybody who came out and at the same time to whistle forassistance. The corporal and I went to our old observation postoutside the library window. 

"The moment I glanced into the room I knew that matters hadreached a climax. I saw you--looking pretty blue, old man--facingthat woman who seemed to be denouncing you. Max stood beside youwith a pistol, and beside him was our friend, Mortimer, with aregular whopper of an automatic. Before I had time to move, theplain-clothes man at the back of the house whistled. He had foundthe secret door with Bellward and the woman coming out of it. 

"Then I saw Mortimer fire point-blank at you. I had my gun out ina second, but I was afraid of shooting, for fear of hitting youas you went for the other man. 

"But the corporal at my side wasn't worrying much about you. Justas you jumped he put up his gun and let fly at Mortimer with asense of discrimination which does him infinite credit. He missedMortimer, but plugged Max plumb through the forehead and my oldfriend dropped in his tracks right between you and the otherfellow. On that we hacked our way through the French window. Thecorporal 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 ofthe door leading into the hall. Behrend we caught hiding in abrush 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 deucedunpleasant. Still, we were too late. You were laid out on thefloor; Mortimer, Bellward and the lady had made their luckyescape. And the secret door showed us how they had gone... "

"But I thought you had a man posted at the back?"

"Would you believe it? When the shooting began, the infernalidiot must rush round to our assistance, so, of course, Mortimerand Co. , nipping out by the secret door, got clear away down thedrive. But that is not the worst. Matthews gave them the car!"

"No!" said Desmond incredulously. 

"He did, though, " answered Francis. "Mind you, Mortimer had hadthe presence of mind to throw off his disguise. He presentedhimself to Matthews as Strangwise. Matthews knows Strangwisequite well: he has often seen him with the Chief. 

"'My God, Captain Strangwise, ' says Matthews, as the trioappeared, 'What's happened?'

"'You're wanted up at the house immediately, Matthews, ' saysStrangwise quite excitedly. 'We're to take the car and go forassistance. '

"Matthews had a look at Strangwise's companions, and seeingBellward, of course, takes him for you. As for the lady, she hada 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 anylurking suspicions that old Matthews might have had. He left themilitary policeman at the gate and tore off like mad up the drivewhile Strangwise and the others jumped into the car and were awaybefore you could say 'knife. ' The military, policeman actuallycranked up the car for them!

"When Matthews burst into the library with the story of you andStrangwise and Miss Mackwayte having gone off for help in ouronly car, I knew we had been sold. You were there, knocked out oftime on the floor, in your disguise as Bellward, so I knew thatthe man with Strangwise was the real Bellward and I consequentlydeduced that Strangwise was Mortimer and consequently the veryman we had to catch. 

"We were done brown. If we had had a little more time to thinkthings out, we should have found that motor-bike and I would havegone after the trio myself. But my first idea was to summon aid. I tried to telephone without success and then we found the wirecut outside. Then I had the idea of pumping Behrend. I found himquite chatty and furious against Mortimer, whom he accused ofhaving sold them. He told us that the party would be sure to makefor the Dyke Inn, as Nur-el-Din was there. 

"By this time Strangwise and his party had got at least an hourclear start of us. I had set a man to repair the telephone and inthe meantime was thinking of sending another on foot to Stanningto fetch one of our cars. Then I found the motor-bike anddespatched one of the military policemen on it to Stanning. 

"In about half an hour's time he was back with a car in whichwere Gordon and Harrison and some more military police. I putMatthews in charge of the party and sent them off to the DykeInn, though I felt pretty sure we were too late to catch thetrio. That was really the reason I stayed behind; besides, Iwanted to look after you. I got a turn when I saw you spread outall over the carpet, old man, I can tell you. "

Desmond, who had listened with the most eager attention, did notspeak for a minute. The sense of failure was strong upon him. Howhe had bungled it all!

"Look here, " he said presently in a dazed voice, "you said justnow that Matthews mistook Mrs. Malplaquet for Miss Mackwayte. Whyshould Matthews think that Miss Mackwayte was down here? Did shecome down with you?"

Francis looked at him quickly. 

"That crack on the head makes you forget things, " he said. "Don'tyou remember Miss Mackwayte coming down here to see you yesterdayafternoon Matthews thought she had stayed on... "

Desmond shook his head. 

"She's not been here, " he replied. "I'm quite positive about that!"

Francis sprang to his feet. 

"Surely you must be mistaken, " he said in tones of concern. "TheChief sent her down yesterday afternoon on purpose to see you. She reached Wentfield Station all right; because the porter toldMatthews that she asked him the way to the Mill House. "

An ominous foreboding struck chill at Desmond's heart. He heldhis throbbing head for an instant. Someone had mentioned Barbarathat night in the library but who was it? And what had he said?

Ah! of course, it was Strangwise. "So that's what she wanted withNur-el-Din!" he had said. 

Desmond felt it all coming back to him now. Briefly he toldFrancis of his absence from the Mill House in response to thesummons from Nur-el-Din, of his interview with the dancer and herstory of the Star of Poland, of his hurried return just in timeto meet Mortimer, and of Mortimer's enigmatical reference to thedancer in the library that night. 

Fancis looked graver and graver as the story proceeded. Desmondnoted it and reproached himself most bitterly with his initialfailure to inform the Chief of the visits of Nur-el-Din andMortimer to the Mill House. When he had finished speaking, he didnot look at Francis, but gazed mournfully out of the window intothe chilly drizzle of a sad winter's day. 

"I don't like the look of it at all, Des, " said his brothershaking his head, "but first we must make sure that there hasbeen no misunderstanding about Miss Mackwayte. You say yourhousekeeper was already here when you came back from the DykeInn. She may have seen her. Let's have old Martha in!"

Between fright, bewilderment and indignation at the invasion ofthe house, old Martha was, if anything, deafer and more stupidthan usual. After much interrogation they had to be satisfiedwith 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 thefirst to speak. His eyes were shining and his manner was rathertense. 

"Des, " he asked; "what do you make of it? From what Strangwiselet fall in the library here tonight, it seems probable that MissMackwayte, instead of coming here to see you as she was told--orshe may have called during your absence--went to the Dyke Inn andsaw Nur-el-Din. The muffed cry you heard at the inn suggests foulplay to me and that suspicion is deepened in my mind by the factthat Matthews found Nur-el-Din at the Dyke Inn, as he reported tome by telephone just now; but he says nothing about MissMackwayte. Des, I fear the worst for that poor girl if she hasfallen into the hands of that gang!"

Desmond remained silent for a moment. He was trying to piecethings together as best as his aching head would allow. BothNur-el-Din and Strangwise were after the jewel. Nur-el-Dinbelieved that afternoon that Strangwise had it, while Strangwise, on discovering his loss, had seemed to suggest that BarbaraMackwayte had recovered it. 

"Either Strangwise or Nur-el-Din, perhaps both of them, " saidDesmond, "must know what has become of Miss Mackwayte. "

And he explained his reasoning to Francis. His brother noddedquickly. 

"Then Nur-el-Din shall tell us, " he answered sternly. 

"They've arrested her?" asked Desmond with a sudden pang. 

"Yes, " said Francis curtly. But too late to prevent a crime beingcommitted. When Matthews and his party arrived, they foundNur-el-Din in the very act of leaving the inn. The landlord, Rass, was lying dead on the floor of the tap-room with a bulletthrough the temple. That looks to me, Des, as though Nur-el-Dinhad recovered the jewel!"

"But Rass is a compatriot of hers, " Desmond objected. 

"But he was also an inconvenient witness of her dealings withStrangwise, " retorted Francis. "If either Nur-el-Din orStrangwise have regained possession of the Star of Poland, Des, Ifear 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 werenot of the most agreeable. Had he been wrong in thinkingNur-el-Din a victim? Was he, after all, nothing but a credulousfool who had been hoodwinked by a pretty woman's play-acting? Andhad he sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte to his obstinacy and hiscredulousness?

Francis burst suddenly into the room. 

"Des, " he cried, "they've found Miss Mackwayte's hat on the floorof the tap-room... It is stained with blood... "

Desmond felt himself growing pale:

"And the girl herself, " he asked thickly, "what of her?"

Francis shook his head. 

"Vanished, " he replied gravely. "Vanished utterly. Desmond, " he added, "we must go over to the Dyke Inn at once!"

CHAPTER XXI. THE BLACK VELVET TOQUE

Across Morsted Fen the day was breaking red and sullen. Thebrimming dykes, fringed with bare pollards, and the long sheetsof water spread out across the lush meadows, threw back the fieryradiance of the sky from their gleaming surface. The tallpoplars about the Dyke Inn stood out hard and clear in the ruddylight; beyond them the fen, stretched away to the flaming horizongloomy and flat and desolate, with nothing higher than thestunted pollards visible against the lurid background. 

Upon the absolute silence of the scene there presently broke thesteady humming of a car. A great light, paled by the dawn, camebobbing and sweeping, along the road that skirted the fen's edge. A big open car drew up by the track and branched, off to the inn. Its four occupants consulted together for an instant and thenalighted. Three of them were in plain clothes; the other was asoldier. The driver was also in khaki. 

"They're astir, Mr. Matthews, " said one, of the plain clothesmen, pointing towards the house, "see, there's a light in theinn!"

They followed the direction of his finger and saw a beam ofyellow light gleaming from among the trees. 

"Get your guns out, boys!" said Matthews. "Give them a chance toput their hands up, and if they don't obey, shoot!"

Very swiftly but very quietly, the four men picked their way overthe miry track to the little bridge leading to the yard in frontof 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 wasquite still. Above their head the inn sign groaned uneasily as itwas stirred by the fresh morning breeze. 

"You, Gordon, " whispered Matthews to the man behind him--they hadadvanced in Indian file--"take Bates and go round to the back. Harrison will go in by the front with me. "

Even as he spoke a faint noise came from the interior of thehouse. The four men stood stock-still and listened. In theabsolute stillness of the early morning, the sound felldistinctly on their ears. It was a step--a light step--descendingthe stairs. 

Gordon and the soldier detached themselves from the party asMatthews and the other plain clothes man crossed the bridgeswiftly and went up to the inn door. Hardly had Matthews got hisfoot on the stone step of the threshold than, a piercing shriekresounded from the room quite close at hand. The next minute aflying figure burst out of the door and fell headlong into thearms of Matthews who was all but overbalanced by the force of theimpact. 

He closed with the figure and grappled it firmly. His armsencountered 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 sothat he could see her face. She was deathly pale and her blackeyes were wide open, the pupils dilated. Her teeth werechattering in her head. She seemed incapable of speech or motion. 

"Nur-el-Din?" exclaimed Matthews in accents of triumph. "Bringher in, Harrison, and let's have a look at her!"

But the woman recoiled in terror. She arched her body stiff, likea child in a passion, and strained every muscle to remain whereshe was cowering by the inn-door. 

"Come on, my girl, " said the man not unkindly, "don't you 'earwot 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 mestay outside! Take me to prison but not, not into that houseagain!"

She half fell on her knees in the mire, pleading, entreating, herbody shaken by sobs. 

Then Harrison, who was an ex-Guardsman and a six-footer at that, plucked her off her feet and carried her, still struggling, stillimploring with piteous cries, over the threshold into the house:Matthews followed behind. 

The shutters of the tap-room were still closed. Only a strip ofthe dirty floor, strewn with sawdust, was illuminated by a bar ofreddish light from the daybreak outside. On the table a candle, burnt down to the socket of its brass candlestick, flared andputtered in a riot of running wag. Half in the bar of daylightfrom outside, half in the darkness beyond the open door, againstwhich the flickering candlelight struggled feebly, lay the bodyof a yellow-faced, undersized man with a bullet wound through thetemple. 

Without effort Harrison deposited his light burden on her feet bythe table. Instantly, the girl fled, like some frightened animalof the woods, to the farthest corner of the room. Here shedropped sobbing on her knees, rocking herself to and fro in asort of paroxysm of hysteria. Harrison moved quickly round thetable after her; but he was checked by a cry from Matthews whowas kneeling by the body. 

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

Harrison crossed the room and looked down at the still figure. Hewhistled softly. 

"My word!" he said, "but he copped it all right, sir! Ay, I knowhim well enough! He's Rass, the landlord of this pub, that's whohe is, as harmless a sort of chap as ever was! Who did it, d'youthink, sir?"

Matthews, who had been going through the dead man's pockets, nowrose to his feet. 

"Nothing worth writing home about there, " he said half aloud. Then to Harrison, he added: "That's what we've got todiscover... 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 aninterrogatory glance from Matthews, "I've been all over theground floor and there's not a soul here... "

He checked himself suddenly. 

"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed, his eyes on the figurecrouching in the corner, "you don't mean to say you've got her? Apretty dance she led Dug and myself! Well, sir, it looks to melike 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 lookupstairs--that door in the corner leads to the upper rooms, Ifancy whilst I'm telephoning to Mr. Okewood. He must know aboutthis without delay. You, Harrison, keep an eye on the girl!"

He went through the door leading into the bar, and they heard himspeaking on the telephone which hung on the wall behind thecounter. He returned presently with a white tablecloth which hethrew over the prostrate figure on the floor. 

Then he turned to the dancer. 

"Stand up, " he said sternly, "I want to speak to you. "

Nur-el-Din cast a frightened glance over her shoulder at thefloor beside the table where Rass lay. On seeing the white pallthat hid him from view, she became somewhat reassured. She roseunsteadily to her feet and stood facing Matthews. 

"In virtue of the powers conferred upon me by the Defence of theRealm Acts, I arrest you foil espionage... Matthews rolled off inglib, official gabble the formula of arrest ending with the usualcaution that anything the prisoner might say might be usedagainst her at her trial. Then he said to Harrison:

"Better put them on her, Harrison!"

The plain clothes man took a pace forward and touched thedancer's slender wrists, there was a click and she washandcuffed. 

"Now take her in there, " said Matthews pointing to the bar. "There's no exit except by this room. And don't take your eyesoff her. You understand? Mr. Okewood will be along presently witha female searcher. "

"Sir!" said the plain clothes man with military precision andtouched the dancer on the shoulder. Without a word she turned andfollowed 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 upin one of the rooms. The door is still locked but one of thepanels has been forced out. I think you ought to see it!"

The two men passed out of the tap-room together, and mounted thestairs. On the landing Matthews paused a moment to glance out ofthe window on to the bleak and inhospitable fen which was almostobscured 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 thatone of the panels of the door facing the head of the stairs hadbeen pressed out and lay on the ground. They passed up the stairsand Matthews, putting one arm and his head through the opening, found himself gazing into that selfsame ugly sitting room whereDesmond had talked with Nur-el-Din. 

A couple of vigorous heaves burst the fastening of the door. Thesitting-room was in the wildest confusion. The doors of thesideboard stood wide with its contents scatteredhiggledy-piggledy on the carpet. A chest of drawers in the cornerhad been ransacked, some of the drawers having been taken bodilyout and emptied on the floor. 

The door leading to the inner room stood open and showed that asimilar search had been conducted there as well. The inner roomproved to be a bare white-washed place, very plainly furnished asa bedroom. On the floor stood a small attache case, and beside ita little heap of miscellaneous articles such as a woman wouldtake away with her for a weekend, a crepe-de-chine nightdress, adainty pair of bedroom slippers and some silver-mounted toiletfittings. From these things Matthews judged that this had beenNur-el-Din's bedroom. 

The two men spent a long time going through the litter with whichthe floor in the bedroom and sitting room was strewed. But theirlabors were vain, and they turned their attention to theremaining rooms, of which there were three. 

The first room they visited, adjoining Nur-el-Din's bedroom, wasscarcely better than an attic. It contained in the way offurniture little else than a truckle-bed, a washstand, a tableand a chair. Women's clothes were hanging on hooks behind thedoor. The place looked like a servant's bedroom. 

They pursued their search. Across the corridor two rooms stoodside by side. One proved to be Rass's. His clothes lay about theroom, and on a table in the corner, where writing materialsstood, were various letters and bills made out in his name. 

The other room had also been occupied; for the bed was made andturned back for the night and there were clean towels on thewashstand. But there was no clue as to its occupant save for adouble-barreled gun which stood in the corner. It had evidentlybeen recently used; for fresh earth was adhering to the stock andthe barrel, though otherwise clean, showed traces offreshly-burnt powder. 

There being nothing further to glean upstairs, the two men wentdown to the tap-room again. As Matthews came through the doorleading from the staircase his eye caught a dark object which layon the floor under the long table. He fished it out with hisstick. 

It was a small black velvet toque with a band of white and blacksilk flowers round it. In one part the white flowers werebesmeared with a dark brown stain. 

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

"Do you know that hat?" he asked, holding it up for the man tosee. 

Gordon shook his head. 

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

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

"Of the office?" repeated Gordon. Then he exclaimed suddenly:

"Miss Mackwayte!"

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

He put the hat down on the table and ran into the bar whereNur-el-Din sat immobile on her chair, wrapped in a big overcoatof some soft blanket cloth in dark green, her chin sunk on herbreast. 

Matthews called up the Mill House and asked for Francis Okewood. When he mentioned the finding of Barbara Mackwayte's hat, thedancer raised her head and cast a frightened glance at Matthews. But she said nothing and when Matthews turned from the telephoneto go back to the tap-room she had resumed her former listlessattitude. 

Matthews and Gordon made a thorough search of the kitchen andback premises without finding anything of note. They had justfinished when the sound of a car outside attracted theirattention. On the road beyond the little bridge outside the innFrancis and Desmond Okewood were standing, helping a woman toalight. Francis was still wearing his scarecrow-like apparel, while Desmond, with his beard and pale face and bandaged head, looked singularly unlike the trim Brigade Major who had come homeon leave only a week or so before. 

Matthews went out to meet them and, addressing the woman--abrisk-looking person-as Mrs. Butterworth, informed her that itwas shocking weather. Then he led the way into the inn. 

The first thing that Desmond saw was the little toque with thebrown stain on its flowered band lying on the table. Francispicked it up, turned it over and land it down again. 

"Where did you find it?" he asked Matthews. The latter informedhim of the circumstances of the discovery. Then Francis, sendingthe searcher in to Nur-el-Din in the bar, pointed to the body onthe floor. 

"Let's have a look at that!" he said. 

Matthews removed the covering and the three men gazed at the setface of the dead man. There was a clean bullet wound in the righttemple. Matthews showed the papers he had taken off the body andexchanged a few, words in a low tone with Francis. There issomething about the presence of death which impels respectwhatever the circumstances. 

Five minutes later Mrs. Butterworth came out of the bar. In herhands she held a miscellaneous assortment of articles, a smallgold chain purse, a pair of gloves, a gold cigarette case, a tinyhandkerchief, and a long blue envelope. She put all the articlesdown on the tables save the envelope which she handed to Francis. 

"This was in the lining of her overcoat, sir, " she said. 

Francis took the envelope and broke the seal. He drew out half adozen sheets of thin paper, folded lengthwise. Leisurely heunfolded them, but he had hardly glanced at the topmost sheetthan he turned to the next and the next until he had run throughthe whole bunch. Desmond, peering over his shoulder, caught aglimpse of rows of figures, very neatly set out in a round handand knew that he was looking at a message in cipher code. 

The door at the end of the tap-room was flung open and a soldiercame in quickly. 

He stopped irresolute on seeing the group. 

"Well, Bates, " said Matthews. 

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

"The cellar?" cried Matthews. 

"Yes, sir... I think you must ha' overlooked it. "

Francis, Desmond and Matthews exchanged a brief glance. A namewas on the lips of each one of them but none dared speak it. Then, leaving Harrison and Mrs. Butterworth with Nur-el-Din, thethree men followed the soldier and hurriedly quitted the room. 

CHAPTER XXII. WHAT THE CELLAR REVEALED

On opening the door at the farther end of the tap-room they sawbefore them a trap-door standing wide with a shallow flight ofwooden steps leading to the darkness below. Bates pointed withhis foot to a square of linoleum which lay on one side. 

"That was covering the trap, " he said, "I wouldn't ha' noticednothing out of the ordinary myself only I slipped, see, andkicked this bit o' ilecloth away and there was the ring of thetrap staring me in the face, as you might say. Show us a lighthere, Gordon!"

Gordon handed him an electric torch. He flashed it down thestair. It fell upon something like a heap of black clotheshuddled up at the foot of the ladder. 

"Is it Miss Mackwayte?" whispered Francis to his brother. "I'venever 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 slippeddown the stair with Gordon close behind. There was a pause, sotense that it seemed an eternity to Desmond, as he waitedhalf-way down the ladder with the musty smell of the cellar inhis nostrils. Then Matthews cried:

"It's not her!"

"Let me look!" Gordon broke in. Then Desmond heard him exclaim. 

"It's Nur-el-Din's French maid! It's Marie... She's been stabbedin the back!"

Desmond suddenly felt rather sick. This progress from one deed ofviolence to another revolted him. The others crowded into thecellar; but he did not follow them. He remained at the top of thetrap, leaning against the wall, trying to collect his thoughts. 

Barbara Mackwayte was now his sole preoccupation. If anything hadhappened to her, --it was through his fault alone; for he began tofeel sure she must have come to the Mill House in his absence. What then had become of her? The blood-stained toque pointed tofoul play. But if they had murdered her, what had they done withthe body?

His thoughts flew back to his interview with Nur-el-Din upstairson the previous afternoon. He remembered the entrance of the maidand the dancer's hurried exit. Might not Marie have come to tellher that Barbara Mackwayte was below asking for her? It was veryshortly after this interruption that, crouching on the roof ofthe shed, he had heard that muffled cry from the house and seenRass enter the bar and speak with Strangwise. He had seen, too, the maid, Marie, in earnest conversation with Strangwise by theback gate on the fen. Had both Marie and Rass been in league withStrangwise against the dancer? And had Nur-el-Din discoveredtheir treachery? His mind refused to follow these deductions totheir logical sequence; for, black as things looked againstNur-el-Din, he could not bring himself to believe her amurderess. 

But now there were footsteps on the ladder. They were all comingout of the cellar again. As soon as Francis saw Desmond's face, he caught his brother by the arm and said:

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

He walked him quickly through the tap-room and out through theinn door into the yard. 

The rain had ceased and the sun was making a brave attempt toshine through the clouds. The cold air did Desmond good andafter a turn or two in the yard, arm in arm with Francis, he feltconsiderably better. 

"Where is Miss Mackwayte?" he asked. 

"Des, " said his brother, "I don't know and I don't want tocross-examine Nur-el-Din in there until I have reasoned out sometheory which will fit Miss Mackwayte in her place in thishorrible affair. The men have gone to search the outhouses andprecincts of the inn to see if they can find any traces of herbody, but I don't think they will find anything. I believe thatMiss Mackwayte is alive. "

"Alive?" said Desmond. 

"The blood on that toque of hers might have been Rass's. There isa good deal of blood on the floor. You see, I still think MissMackwayte's safety depends on that jewel not being recovered byeither Strangwise or Nur-el-Din. Strangwise, we know, has lostthe jewel and there is no trace of it here: moreover, we knowthat, as late as yesterday afternoon, Nur-el-Din did not have it. Therefore, she cannot have sent it away! I am inclined tobelieve, too, that Strangwise, before going over to the MillHouse last night, carried off Miss Mackwayte somewhere with theaid of Rass and Marie, who were evidently his accomplices, inorder to find out from her where the jewel is concealed... "

"But Miss Mackwayte cannot know what has become of it, " objectedDesmond. 

"Maybe not, " retorted his brother, "but both Strangwise andNur-el-Din know that the jewel was originally entrusted to hercharge. Nur-el-Din did not, it is true, tell Miss Mackwayte whatthe silver box contained but the latter may have found out, atleast the dancer might suppose so; while Strangwise might thinkthe same. Therefore, both Strangwise and Nur-el-Din had aninterest in detaining Miss Mackwayte, and I think Strangwiseforestalled the dancer. When Nur-el-Din discovered it, both Rassand 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 itto you just as I had it from her. "

"Perfectly, " answered his brother. 

"Well, " Desmond went on deliberately, "I think that story givesus 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 anadventuress, but she's not a murderess. If anything, she's avictim!"

Francis laughed shortly. 

"Victim be damned!" he cried. "Man alive, " he went on, "how canyou talk such nonsense in face of the evidence, with thisbloody-minded woman's victims hardly cold yet? But, horrible asthese murders are, the private squabbles of this gang of spiesrepresent neither your interest nor mine in this case. For us thefact remains that Nur-el-Din, besides being a monster ofiniquity, is the heart and soul and vitals of the wholeconspiracy!"

Jaded and nervous, Desmond felt a quick sting of resentment athis brother's tone. Why should Francis thus lay down the law tohim about Nur-el-Din? Francis knew nothing of the girl or herantecedents while he, Desmond, flattered himself that he had atleast located the place she occupied in this dark conspiracy. Andhe cried out vehemently:

"You're talking like a fool! I grant you that Nur-el-Din has beenmixed up with this spy crowd; but she herself stands absolutelyapart from the organization... "

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

"What about it?" asked Desmond sharply. 

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

"Well?"

"That happens to be the current secret code of the German GreatGeneral Staff. If you were to tap a German staff message out inFrance to-day, ten to one it would be in that code. Curiouscoincidence, isn't it?"

When one is angry, to be baffled in argument does not have asedative effect as a rule. If we were all philosophers it might;but being merely human beings, cold reason acts on the inflamedtemperament as a red rag is said to affect a bull. 

Desmond, sick with the sense of failure and his anxiety aboutBarbara, was in no mood to listen to reason. The cold logic ofhis brother infuriated him mainly because Desmond knew thatFrancis was right. 

"I don't care a damn for the evidence, " vociferated Desmond; "Itmay look black against Nur-el-Din; I daresay it does; but I havemet and talked to this girl and I tell you again that she is nota principal in this affair but a victim!"

"You talk as if you were in love with the woman!" Francis saidmockingly. 

Desmond went rather white. 

"If pity is a form of love, " he replied in a low voice, "then Iam, for God knows I never pitied any woman as I pity Nur-el-Din!Only you, I suppose, " he added bitterly, "are too much of thepoliceman, Francis, to appreciate anything like that!" Hottempers run in families and Francis flared up on the instant. 

"I may be a policeman, as you say, " he retorted, "but I've gotenough sense of my duty, I hope, not to allow sentimentality tointerfere with my orders!"

It was a shrewd thrust and it caught Desmond on the raw. 

"I'm sick of arguing here, " he said hotly, "if you're so mightyclever, you'd better shoot Nur-el-Din first and arrest Strangwiseafterwards. Then you'll find out which of us two is right!"

He turned on his heel and started for the little bridge leadingout onto the fen. 

Francis stood still a moment watching him, then ran after him. Hecaught up with Desmond as the latter reached the bridge. 

"Desmond!" he said, pleadingly. 

"Oh, go to hell!" retorted the other savagely, whereupon Francisturned his back on him and walked back to the inn. 

A car had stopped by the bridge and a man was getting out of itas Desmond moved towards the fen. The next moment he foundhimself face to face with the Chief. 

The Chief's face was hard and cold and stern. There was a furrowbetween his eyes which deepened when he recognized Desmond. 

"Well, " he said curtly, "and where is my secretary?"

"I don't know, " Desmond faltered. 

"Why are you here, then?" came back in that hard, uncompromisingvoice. 

Desmond was about to reply; but the other checked him. 

"I know all you have to say, " he resumed, "but no excuse you canoffer can explain away the disappearance of Miss Mackwayte. Yourorders were formal to remain at home. You saw fit to disobey themand thereby, maybe, sent Miss Mackwayte to her death. No!" headded, seeing that Desmond was about to expostulate, "I want tohear nothing from you. However obscure the circumstances of MissMackwayte's disappearance may be, one fact is perfectly clear, namely, that she went to the Mill House, as she was ordered andyou were not there. For no man or woman in my service ever daresto disobey an order I have given. "

"Chief... " Desmond broke in, but again that inexorable voiceinterposed. 

"I will hear nothing from you, " said the Chief, "it is a rule ofmine never to interfere with my men in their work or to see themuntil their mission has been successfully completed. When youhave 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 goodmorning. And I trust you will hear from me very soon again!"

He walked over to one of the cars waiting outside the inn, spokea word to the driver and got in. The driver started the engineand presently the car was bumping slowly along the muddy track tothe main road. 

The Chief stood looking after him. 

"Well, " he murmured to himself. "I soaked it into him prettyhard; but he took it like a brick. I do believe he'll find heryet!"

He shook his head sagely and continued on hid way across theyard. 

CHAPTER XXIII. MRS. MALPLAQUET GOES DOWN TO THE CELLAR

In the age of chivalry woman must have been built of sternerstuff than the girl of to-day. At least, we read in medievalromance of fair ladies who, after being knocked down by amasterful suitor and carried off across his saddle bow thirty orforty miles, are yet able to appear, cold but radiantlybeautiful, at the midnight wedding and the subsequent marriagefeast. 

But this is a romance of the present day, the age of nerves andhigh velocity. Barbara Mackwayte, strong and plucky as she was, after being half throttled and violently thrown into the cellarof the Dyke Inn, suddenly gave way under the strain andconveniently evaded facing the difficulties of her position byfainting 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 darknessenveloping her mind. She lay there on the damp and mouldy straw, hardly able, scarcely wanting, to move, overwhelmed by theextraordinary adventure which had befallen her. Was this to bethe end of the pleasant trip into the country on which she hadembarked so readily only a few hours before? She tried toremember that within twenty miles of her were policemen and taxisand lights and all the attributes of our present daycivilization; but her thoughts always returned, with increasinghorror, to that undersized yellow-faced man in the room above, tothe face of Nur-el-Din, dark and distorted with passion. 

A light shining down the cellar stairs drew her attention to theentrance. The woman she had already seen and in whom she nowrecognized Marie, the dancer's maid, was descending, a tray inher hand. She placed the tray on the ground without a word, thenwent up the stairs again and fetched the lamp. She put the lampdown by the tray and, stooping, cut the ropes that fastenedBarbara's hands and feet. 

"So, Mademoiselle, " she said, drawing herself erect with a grunt, "your supper: some tea and meat!"

She pulled a dirty deal box from a corner of the cellar and putthe tray upon it. Then she rose to her feet and sat down. Themaid watched Barbara narrowly while she ate a piece of bread anddrank the tea. 

"At least, " thought Barbara to herself, "they don't mean tostarve me!"

The tea was hot and strong; and it did her good. It seemed toclear her faculties, too; for her brain began to busy itself withthe problem of escaping from her extraordinary situation. 

"Mademoiselle was a leetle too clevaire, " said the maid with anevil leer, --"she would rob Madame, would she? She would play theespionne, hein? Eh bien, ma petite, you stay 'ere ontil you saywhat you lave done wiz ze box of Madame!"

"Why do you say I have stolen the box?" protested Barbara, "whenI tell you I know nothing of it. It was stolen from me by the manwho killed my father. More than that I don't know. You don'tsurely think I would conspire to kill" her voice trembled--"myfather, to get possession of this silver box that means nothingto me!"

Marie laughed cynically. 

"Ma foi, " she cried, "when one is a spy, one will stop atnothing! But tiers, here is Madame!"

Nur-el-Din picked her way carefully down the steps, theyellow-faced man behind her. He had a pistol in his hand. Thedancer said something in French to her maid who picked up thetray and departed. 

"Now, Mademoiselle, " said Nur-el-Din, "you see this pistol. Rasshere will use it if you make any attempt to escape. Youunderstand me, hein? I come to give you a las' chance to saywhere you 'ave my box... "

Barbara looked at the dancer defiantly. 

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

"Quoi?" exclaimed Nur-el-Din in genuine surprise, "comment?"

"Because, " said Barbara, "a long black hair--one of yourhairs--was found adhering to the straps with which I wasfastened!"

"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 somethingto Nur-el-Din in the same foreign tongue which Barbara had heardthem 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. Heseized me so suddenly that in the dark I could distinguishnothing... 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 outsomething swiftly to the dancer, thrust the pistol into herhands, and dashed up the ladder. The next moment there was a loudreport followed by the thud of a heavy body falling. Somewhere inthe rooms above a woman screamed. 

Nur-el-Din's hands flew to her face and the pistol crashed to theground. Two men appeared at the head of the cellar stairs. Onewas Strangwise, in uniform, the other was Bellward. 

"They're both here!" said Strangwise over his shoulder toBellward. 

"Ah, thank God, you've come!" cried Barbara, running to the footof the ladder. 

Strangwise brushed past her and caught Nur-el-Din by the arm. 

"Run her upstairs, " he said quickly to Bellward who had followedbehind him, "and lock her in her room. I've seen to the rest. You, Miss Mackwayte, " he added to Barbara, "you will come withus!"

Barbara was staring in fascination at Bellward. She had neverbelieved that any disguise could be so baffling, so complete;Major Okewood, she thought, looked like a different man. 

But Bellward had grasped the dancer by the two arms and forcedher up the stairs in front of him. Nur-el-Din seemed too overcomewith terror to utter a sound. 

"Oh, don't be so rough with her, Major Okewood!" entreatedBarbara, "you'll hurt her!"

She had her back turned to Strangwise so she missed the veryremarkable change that came over his features at her words. 

"Okewood, " he whispered but too low for the girl to distinguishthe words, "Okewood? I might have guessed! I might have guessed!"Then he touched Barbara lightly on the shoulder. 

"Come, " he said, "we must be getting upstairs. We have much todo!"

He gently impelled her towards the ladder up which Bellward andNur-el-Din had already disappeared. At the top, he took the leadand conducted Barbara into the taproom. A single candle stood onthe table, throwing a wan light into the room. Rass lay on hisback in the centre of the floor, one hand doubled up under him, one knee slightly drawn up. 

Barbara started back in horror. 

"Is he... Is he... " she stammered, pointing at the limp stillform. 

Strangwise nodded. 

"A spy!" he said gravely, "we were well rid of him. Go over therein the corner where you won't see it. Stay!" he added, seeing howpale the girl had become, "you shall have some brandy!"

He produced a flask and measured her out, a portion in the cup. Suddenly, the door leading from the bar opened and a woman cameinto the room. Her black velvet dress, her gray hair and generalair of distinction made her a bizarre figure in that squalid roomlit by the guttering candle. 

"Time we were off!" she said to Strangwise, "Bellward's justcoming down!"

"There's the maid... " began Strangwise, looking meaningly atBarbara. 

The woman in black velvet cast a questioning glance at him. 

Strangwise nodded. 

"I'll do it, " said the woman promptly, "if you'll call her down!"

Strangwise went to the other door of the tap-room and called:

"Marie!"

There was a step outside and the maid came in, pale andtrembling. 

"Your mistress wants you; she is downstairs in the cellar, " hesaid 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 herewill go down with you!" and he pointed to the woman in blackvelvet. 

This seemed to reassure the maid and she walked across the roomto the door, the woman following her. As the latter passedStrangwise he whispered a word in her ear. 

"No, no, " answered the other, "I prefer my own way, " and sheshowed him something concealed in her hand. 

The two women quitted the room together, leaving Strangwise andBarbara alone with the thing on the floor. Strangwise picked up amilitary great-coat which was hanging over the back of a chairand put it on, buttoning it all the way up the front and turningup the collar about the neck. Then he crammed a cap on his headand stood listening intently. 

A high, gurgling scream, abruptly checked, came through the opendoor 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, wellset-up figure in the long khaki great-coat. 

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

A gentle thud resounded from below. 

A man came in through the door leading from the bar:

He had a fat, smooth-shaven face, heavily jowled. 

"All ready, Bellward?" asked Strangwise carelessly. 

Barbara stared at the man thus addressed. She saw that he waswearing the same clothes as the man who had come down into thecellar with Strangwise but the beard was gone. And the man shesaw before her was not Desmond Okewood. 

Without waiting to reason out the metamorphosis, she ran towardsBellward. 

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

Bellward shook her off roughly. 

"Neat work!" said Strangwise. 

"She's a wonder with the knife!" agreed the other. 

Barbara stamped her foot. 

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

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

"Stay where you are!" he commanded. "And if you scream I shoot!"

Barbara was silent, dumb with horror and bewilderment, ratherthan with fear. A light shone through the open door at the end ofthe tap-room and the woman in black velvet appeared, carrying alamp in her hand She was breathing rather hard and her carefullyarranged gray hair was a little untidy; but she was quite calmand self-possessed. 

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

"Bellward, give me my cloak!"

Bellward advanced with a fur cloak and wrapped it about hershoulders. 

"You are the perfect artiste, Minna, " he said. 

"Practise makes perfect!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet archly. 

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

"Come on, " he said impatiently, "don't stand there gossiping youtwo!"

Then Barbara revolted. 

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

"Oh, " said Strangwise wearily, "bring her along, Bellward!"

Bellward and the woman seized the girl one by each arm anddragged her to the car. Strangwise had the door open and betweenthem they thrust her in. Bellward and the woman mounted after herwhile Strangwise, after starting the engine, sprang into thedriving-seat outside. With a low hum the big car glided forthinto the cold, starry night. 

From the upper floor of the Dyke Inn came the sound of a woman'sterrified sobs. Below there reigned the silence of death. 

CHAPTER XXIV. THE TWO DESERTERS

Desmond drove to Wentfield Station in an angry and defiant mood. He was incensed against Francis, incensed against the Chief, yet, if the truth were told, most of all incensed against himself. 

Not that he admitted it for a moment. He told himself that he wasvery hardly used. He had undergone considerable danger in thecourse of discharging a mission which was none of his seeking, and he had met with nothing but taunts from his brother and abusefrom the Chief. 

"I wash my hands of the whole thing, " Desmond declared, as hepaced the platform at Wentfield waiting for his train. "AsFrancis is so precious cocksure about it all, let him carry on inmy place! He's welcome to the Chief's wiggings! The Chief won'tget me to do his dirty work again in a hurry! That's flat!"

Yet all the while the little gimlet that men call conscience waspatiently drilling its way through the wall of obduracy behindwhich Desmond's wounded pride had taken cover. Rail as he wouldagainst his hard treatment at the hands of the Chief, he knewperfectly well that he could never wash his hands of his missionuntil Barbara Mackwayte had been brought back into safety. Thisthought kept thrusting itself forward into the foreground of hismind; and he had to focus his attention steadfastly on hisgrievances to push it back again. 

But we puny mortals are all puppets in the hands of Fate. Even asthe 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 purposeFate had donned the disguise of a dirty-faced man in a greasy oldsuit and a spotted handkerchief in lieu of collar... But of himpresently. 

On arriving at Liverpool Street, Desmond, painfully conscious ofhis unkempt appearance, took a taxi to a Turkish bath in the WestEnd. There his first care was to submit himself to the hands ofthe barber who, after a glance at his client's bandaged head, muddy clothes and shaggy beard, coughed ominously and relapsedinto a most unbarber-like reserve. 

Desmond heard the cough and caught the look of commiseration onthe man's face. 

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

"... Had a nasty accident, " murmured Desmond, "I fell down andcut my head... "

"We're used to that here, sir, " answered the barber, "but thebath'll make you as right as, rain. W'y we 'ad a genel'man in'ere, only lars' week it was, as 'adn't been 'ome for five daysand nights and the coat mos tore off 'is back along with a bit ofturn-up 'e'd 'at one o' them night clubs. And drunk I... W'y 'ewent 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 bitof 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 adaisy!"

Desmond had it in his mind to protest against this materialinterpretation of his disreputable state; but the sight in themirror of his ignominiously scrubby and battered appearancesilenced him. The barber's explanation was as good as any, seeingthat he himself could give no satisfactory account of thecircumstances which had reduced him to his sorry pass. So Desmondheld his peace though he felt constrained to reject the barber'soffer of a pick-me-up. 

From the shaving saloon, Desmond sent a messenger out for someclothes, and for the next three hours amused himself byexhausting the resources of the Turkish bath. Finally, about thehour of noon, he found himself, considerably refreshed, swathedin towel, reposing on a couch, a cup of coffee at his elbow andthat morning's Daily Telegraph spread out before him. 

Advertisements, so the experts say, are printed on the front andback of newspapers in order to catch the eye of the indolent, onthe chance that having exhausted the news, they may glance idlyover the front and back of the paper before laying it aside. SoDesmond, before he even troubled to open his paper, let his gazewander down the second column of the front page whence issuedaily those anguishing appeals, mysterious messages, heart-rending entreaties and barefaced begging advertisementswhich give this column its characteristic name. 

There his eye fell on an advertisement couched in the followingterms:

"If Gunner Martin Barling, 1820th Battery, R. F. C. , willcommunicate with Messrs. Mills & Cheyne, solicitors 130 BedfordRow, W. C. , he will hear of something to his advantage. Difficulties with the military can be arranged. "

Desmond read this advertisement over once and then, starting atthe beginning, read it over again. Gunner Barling... The nameconjured up a picture of a jolly, sun-burned man, always veryspick and span, talking the strange lingo of our professionalarmy gleaned from India, Aden, Malta and the Rock, the type ofBritish soldier that put the Retreat from Mons into the historybooks for all time. 

Advertisements like this; Desmond reflected dreamily, meantlegacies as a rule; he was glad of it, for the sake of Barlingwhom he hadn't seen since the far-away days of Aldershot beforethe war. 

"Buzzer" Barling was the brother of one Private Henry Barling whohad been Desmond's soldier-servant. He derived the nickname of"Buzzer" from the fact that he was a signaller. As thevicissitudes of service had separated the two brothers for manyyears, they had profited by the accident of finding themselves atthe same station to see as much of one another as possible, andDesmond had frequently come across the gunner at his quarters inbarracks. Henry Barling had gone out to France with Desmond but asniper in the wood at Villers Cotterets had deprived Desmond ofthe best servant and the truest friend he had ever had Now herewas 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 thegunner who, he felt glad to think, was still alive. The rathercuriously worded reference to difficulties with the military mustmean, Desmond thought, that leave could be obtained for MartinBarling to come home and collect his legacy. 

At this point the Daily Telegraph fell to the ground and Desmondwent off to sleep. When he awoke, the afternoon hush had fallenupon 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. Thebath had made a new man of him. Save for a large bump on the backof his head he was none the worse for Strangwise's savage blow. The attendant having packed Bellward's apparel in the suit-casein which Desmond's clothes had come from the club, Desmond leftthe suit-case in the man's charge and strolled out into the softair of a perfect afternoon. He had discarded his bandage and inhis well fitting blue suit and brown boots he was notrecognizable as the scrubby wretch who had entered the bath sixhours before. 

Desmond strolled idly along the crowded streets in the sunshine. He was rather at a loss as to what his next move should be. Nowthat his mental freshness was somewhat restored, his thoughtsbegan to busy themselves again with the disappearance of BarbaraMackwayte. He was conscious of a guilty feeling towards Barbara. It was not so much the blame he laid upon himself for not beingat the Mill House to meet her when she came as the sense that hehad been unfaithful to the cause of her murdered father. 

Now that he was away from Nur-el-Din with her pleading eyes andpretty gestures, Desmond's thoughts turned again to BarbaraMackwayte. As he walked along Piccadilly, he found himselfcontrasting the two women as he had contrasted them that night hehad met them in Nur-el-Din's dressing room at the Palaceum. And, with a sense of shame; he became aware of how much he hadsuccumbed to the dancer's purely sensual influence; for away fromher he found he could regain his independence of thought andaction. 

The thought of Barbara in the hands of that woman with the crueleyes or a victim to the ruthlessness of Strangwise made Desmondcold with apprehension. If they believed the girl knew where thejewel had disappeared to, they would stop at nothing to force aconfession from her; Desmond was convinced of that. But what hadbecome of the trio?

In vain he cast about him for a clue. As far as he knew, the onlyLondon address that Strangwise had was the Nineveh; and he was aslittle likely to return there as Bellward was to make his way tohis little hotel in Jermyn Street. There remained Mrs. Malplaquetwho, he remembered, had told him of her house at Campden Hill. 

For the moment, Desmond decided, he must put both Strangwise andBellward out of his calculations. The only direction in which hecould start his inquiries after Barbara Mackwayte pointed towardsCampden Hill and Mrs. Malplaquet. 

The delightful weather suggested to his mind the idea of walkingout to Campden Hill to pursue his investigations on the spot. Sohe made his way across the Park into Kensington Gardens headingfor the pleasant glades of Notting Hill. In the Bayswater Road heturned into a postoffice and consulted the London Directory. Hevery quickly convinced himself that among the hundreds ofthousands of names compiled by Mr. Kelly's indefatigable industryMrs. Malplaquet's was not to be found. Neither did the streetdirectory show her as the tenant of any of the houses on CampdenHill. 

I don't know that there is a more pleasant residential quarter ofLondon than the quiet streets and gardens that straggle over thisairy height. The very steepness of the slopes leading up from theKensington High Street on the one side and from Holland ParkAvenue on the other effectually preserves the atmosphere ofold-world languor which envelops this retired spot. The hill, with its approaches so steep as to suggest to the imaginative thepathway winding up some rock-bound fastness of the Highlands, successfully defies organ-grinders and motor-buses and otheraspirants to the membership in the great society for thepropagation of street noises. As you near the summit, the quietbecomes more pronounced until you might fancy yourself a thousandleagues, instead of as many yards, removed from the busy commerceof Kensington or the rather strident activity of Notting Hill. 

So various in size and condition are the houses that it is asthough they had broken away from the heterogeneous rabble ofbricks and mortar that makes up the Royal Borough of Kensington, and run up in a crowd to the summit of the hill to look downcontemptuously upon their less fortunate brethren in the plain. On Campden Hill there are houses to suit all purses and alltastes from the vulgar mansion with its private garden to thelittle one-story stable that Art (which flourishes in theseparts) and ten shillings worth of paint has converted into acottage. 

For half an hour Desmond wandered in a desultory fashion alongthe quiet roads of natty houses with brightly painted doors andshining brass knockers. He had no definite objective; but hehoped rather vaguely to pick up some clue that might lead him toMrs. Malplaquet's. He walked slowly along surveying the housesand scrutinizing the faces of the passers-by who were few and farbetween, yet without coming any nearer the end of his search. 

It was now growing dusk. Enthroned on the summit of the hill thewater-tower stood out hard and clear against the evening sky. Desmond, who hid lost his bearings somewhat in the course of hiswanderings, came to a full stop irresolutely, where two streetscrossed, thinking that he would retrace his footsteps to themain-road on the chance of picking up a taxi to take him back totown. He chose one of the streets at random; but it proved to bea crescent and brought him back practically to the spot he hadstarted from. Thereupon, he took the other and followed it up, ignoring various side-turnings which he feared might be pitfallslike the last: But the second road was as bad as the first. Itwas a cul de sac and brought Desmond face to face with a blankwall. 

He turned and looked about him for somebody of whom to ask theway. But the street was entirely deserted. He seemed to be on thevery summit of the hill; for all the roads were a-tilt. Thoughthe evening was falling fast, no light appeared in any of thehouses and the street lamps were yet unlit. Save for the distantbourdon of the traffic which rose to his ears like the beating ofthe surf, the breeze rustling the bushes in the gardens was theonly sound. 

Desmond started to walk back slowly the way he had come. Presently, his eyes caught the gleam of a light from above afront door. When he drew level with it, he saw that a gas-jet wasburning in the fanlight over the entrance to a neat littletwo-story house which stood by itself in a diminutive garden. Asby 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 thescale of the house, such an insignificant little person she was, opened the door. 

"Oh, sir, " she exclaimed when she saw him, "was it about therooms?"

And she pointed up at the fan-light where, for the first time, Desmond noticed a printed card with the inscription-:

"Furnished Rooms to Let. "

The servant's unexpected question put an idea into Desmond'shead. He could not return to the club, he reflected, since he wassupposed to be killed in action. Why not take a room in thishouse in the heart of the enemy's country and spend some days onthe watch for Mrs. Malplaquet or for any clue that might lead himto her?

So Desmond answered, yes, it was about the rooms he had come. 

Promising that she would tell "the missus, " the little servantshowed him into a tiny sitting-room, very clean and bright, withblue cretonne curtains and a blue carpet and an engraving of"King Cophetua and The Beggar Maid" over the mantelpiece. Directly you came into the room, everything in it got up andshouted "Tottenham Court Road. "

Then the door opened and, with a great tinkling and rustling, astoutish, brisk-looking woman sailed in. The tinkling proceededfrown the large amount of cheap jewelry with which she wasadorned; the rustling from a black and shiny glace silk dress. With every movement she made the large drops she wore in her earschinked and were answered by a melodious chime from the charmbangles she had on her wrists. 

She measured Desmond in a short glance and his appearance seemedto please her for she smiled as she said in rather a mincingvoice:

"My (she pronounced it 'may') maid said you wished to see therooms!"

Desmond intimated that such was his desire. 

"Pray be seated, " said the little woman: "You will understand, I'm sure, that ay am not in the habit of taking in paying guests, but may husband being at the front, ay have a bedroom and thissitting-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, "CaptainViljohn-Smythe; you may have met him. No? Of course, had you notbeen of commissioned rank, ay should not... "

She trailed off vaguely. 

Desmond inquired her terms and surprised her somewhat byaccepting 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 goalong now and fetch my things. By the way, " he went on, "I knowsome people here at Campden Hill but very foolishly, I've mislaidthe address. Malplaquet... Mrs. Malplaquet. Do you happen to knowher house?"

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

"Quayte!" returned Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. "Ay can't say ay know thename!" she added. 

However, she consented to consult the handmaiden, who answered tothe name of Gladays, as to Mrs. Malplaquet's address, but she wasas ignorant as her mistress. 

Promising to return in the course of the evening with his thingsand having received exact instructions as to the shortest way toHolland Park Avenue, Desmond took his leave. He felt that he hadembarked on a wild goose chase; for, even if the fugitives hadmade their way to Mrs. Malplaquet's (which was more thandoubtful) he imagined they would take care to lie very low sothat his chances of coming across any of them were of the mostmeager. 

Following the directions he had received, he made his way easilyback to the main road. He halted under a street-lamp to catch theeye of any passing taxi which might happen to be disengaged. Adirty faced man in a greasy old suit and a spotted handkerchiefknotted about his throat came slouching along the pavement, keeping close to the wall. On catching sight of Desmond's face bythe light of the lamp, he stopped irresolutely and then advancedslowly towards him. 

"Excuse me, sir!" he said falteringly. 

Desmond looked round at the sound of the man's voice and seeing atypical 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 itsunshaven chin and shook his head. 

"I don't think I do, " he answered, "though you seem to know myname!"

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

"That's me, sir!" he said, "and, oh, sir! if you would kindlyhelp me with a word of good advice, just for old times' sake, I'dbe very grateful!"

Desmond took the scrap of paper which the man tendered and heldit so as to catch the rays of the lamp. It was a fragment tornfrom a newspaper. He had hardly set eyes on the cutting than hestretched out his hand to the vagrant. 

"Why, Gunner Barling, " he cried, "I didn't know you! How onearth 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 thinkof it, so am I!"

CHAPTER XXV. TO MRS. MALPLAQUET'S

Clasping Barbara's wrist in a bony grip, Mrs. Malplaquet sat atthe girl's side in the back seat of the limousine whilst Bellwardplaced himself on the seat opposite. The car was powerfullyengined; and, once the cart track up to the inn was passed andthe main road reached, Strangwise opened her out. 

By the track leading to the inn the high road made a right angleturn to the right. This turn they took, leaving the Mill Houseaway in the distance to the left of them, and, after skirting thefen for some way and threading a maze of side roads, presentlydebouched on a straight, broad road. 

Dazed and shaken by her experiences, Barbara lost all count oftime, but after running for some time through the open country inthe gray light of dawn, they reached the edge of those longtentacles of bricks and mortar which London thrusts out from heron every side. The outer fringes of the metropolis were stillsleeping as the great car roared by. The snug "High Streets, "the red brick "Parades" and "Broadways, " with their lines ofhouses with blinds drawn, seemed to have their eyes shut, soblank, so somnolent was their aspect. 

With their lamps alight, the first trams were gliding out tobegin the new day, as the big car swiftly traversed the easternsuburbs of London. To Barbara, who had had her home at SevenKings, there was something familiar about the streets as theyflickered by; but her powers of observation were dulled, so greatwas the sense of helplessness that weighed her down. 

High-booted scavengers with curious snake-like lengths of hose onlittle trolleys were sluicing the asphalt as the limousinesnorted past the Mansion House into Poultney and Cheapside. Thelight was growing clearer now; the tube stations were open andfrom time to time a motor-bus whizzed by. 

Barbara stirred restlessly and Mrs. Malplaquet's grip on herwrist 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 ofcommand. 

Bellward leaned forward. 

"Look at me, Miss Mackwayte!" he said. 

There was a curious insistence in his voice that made Barbaraobey. She struggled for a moment against the impulse to do hisbidding; for some agency within her told her to resist thesummons. But an irresistible force seemed to draw her eyes tohis. Bellward did not move. He simply leaned forward a little, his hands on his knees, and looked at her. Barbara could not seehis eyes, for the light in the car was still dim, but inch byinch they captured hers. 

She looked at the black outline of his head and instantly wasconscious of a wave of magnetic power that transmitted itselffrom his will to hers. She would have cried out, have struggled, have sought to break away; but that invisible dance held her asin 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 justaccomplished some bodily effort, "so! you will keep quiet now anddo as I tell you. You understand?"

No reply came from the girl. She had thrust her head forward andwas gazing fixedly at the man. Bellward leaned towards the girluntil his stubbly hair actually touched her soft brown curls. Hewas gazing intently at her eyes. 

He was apparently well satisfied with his inspection, for he gavea 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 ifwe'd met twenty years sooner!"

And she threw him a coquettish glance. 

"Ah, indeed!" returned Bellward pensively. "But a night like thismakes me feel twenty years older, Minna. He's a daredevil, thisStrangwise. Imagine going back to that infernal inn when thepolice might have broken in on us any minute. But he is adetermined 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 thejewel from him, though he declares that it has never left him dayor night since he got possession of it. He fairly made hay of herroom back at the inn there. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Malplaquet rather spitefully, "he seems to bebeaten 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, thething has utterly vanished. And he doesn't seem to have any clueas to who has taken it!"

"Perhaps not, " replied Bellward, who appeared to have a highopinion of Strangwise, "but, like all Germans, our friend isthorough. If he does not see the direct road, he proceeds by aprocess of elimination until he bits upon it. He did not expectto find the jewel in Nur-el-Din's room; he told me as muchhimself, but he searched because he is thorough in everything. Doyou know why he really went back to the Dyke Inn?"

"Why?" asked Mrs. Malplaquet. 

"To secure our young friend here, " answered Bellward with aglance at Barbara. 

Mrs. Malplaquet made a little grimace to bid him to be prudent inwhat he said before the girl. 

"Bah!" the man laughed, "you understand nothing of what we aresaying, do you?" he said, addressing Barbara. 

The girl moved uneasily. 

"I understand nothing of what you are saying, " she replied in astrained voice. 

"This girl was the last person to have the jewel beforeStrangwise, " Bellward said, continuing his conversation withMrs. Malplaquet, "and she is employed at the Headquarters of the SecretService. Strangwise was satisfied that nobody connected him withthe theft of the silver box which Nur-el-Din gave to this girluntil our young lady here appeared at the Dyke Inn yesterdayafternoon. Nur-el-Din played his game for him by detaining thegirl. Strangwise believes--and I must say I agree with him--thatprobably two persons know where the Star of Poland is. One isthis girl... "

"The other being the late Mr. Bellward?" queried Mrs. Malplaquet. 

"Precisely. The late Mr. Bellward or Major Desmond Okewood!" saidBellward. "Between him and this girl here I think we ought to beable to recover Strangwise's lost property for him!"

"But you haven't got Okewood yet!" observed the lady in a mockingvoice. 

The man looked evilly at her, his heavy, fat chin set square. 

"But we shall get him, never fear. With a little bird-lime asattractive as this--"

He broke off and jerked his head in the direction of Barbara. 

"... I shall do the rest!" he added. 

"Ah!"

Mrs. Malplaquet drew a deep sigh of admiration. 

"That's a clever idea. He is so ruse, this Strangwise. You arequite right, Bellward, he never admits himself beaten. And henever is! But tell me, " she added, "what about Nur-el-Din?They'll nab her, eh?"

"Unless our British friends are even more inefficient than Ibelieve them to be, they most certainly will, " he replied. 

"And then?"

Bellward shrugged his shoulders and spread wide his hands. 

"A little morning ceremony at the Tower, " he answered, "unlessthese idiotic English are too sentimental to execute a woman... "

The car was running down the long slope to Paddington Station. Itdrew up at the entrance to the booking office, and Strangwise, springing from the driver's seat, flung open the door. 

"Come on!" he cried, "we must look sharp or we'll miss ourtrain!"

He dragged a couple of bags off the roof and led the way into thestation. In the booking-hall he inquired of a porter what timethe express left for Bath, then went to the ticket office andtook four first-class tickets to that place. Meanwhile, the carremained standing empty in the carriageway. 

Strangwise led his little party up some stairs and across a longbridge, down some stairs and up some stairs again, emerging, finally, at the Bakerloo Tube Station. There he despatchedBellward to fetch a taxi. 

Taxis are rare in the early hours of the morning in war-time andBellward was gone fully twenty minutes. Strangwise fidgetedcontinually, drawing out his watch repeatedly and casting manyanxious glances this way and that. 

His nervous demeanor began to affect Mrs. Malplaquet, who hadlinked her arm affectionately in Barbara's. The girl remainedabsolutely apathetic. Indeed, she seemed almost as one in atrance. 

"Aren't we going to Bath?" at length demanded Mrs. Malplaquet ofStrangwise. 

"Don't ask questions!" snapped the latter. 

"But the car?" asked the lady. 

"Hold your tongue!" commanded the officer; and Mrs. Malplaquetobeyed. 

Then Mr. Bellward returned with the news that he had at last gota taxi. Strangwise turned to Bellward. 

"Can Minna and the girl go to Campden Hill alone?" he asked. "Orwill the girl try and break away, do you think?"

Bellward held up his hand to enjoin silence. 

"You will go along with Mrs. Malplaquet, " he said to Barbara inhis low purring voice, "you will stay with her until I come. Youunderstand?"

"I will go with Mrs. Malplaquet!" the girl replied in the samedull tone as before. 

"Upon my word, " exclaimed Mrs. Malplaquet, "you might have told methat 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... Wehave no time to lose!"

CHAPTER XXVI. THE MAN IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE

The hour of the theatre rush was long since over and its passinghad transformed the taxi-drivers from haughty autocrats to humblesuppliants. One taxi after another crawled slowly past the streetcorner where Desmond had stood for over an hour in deep conversewith Gunner Barling, but neither flaunting flag nor appealinglyuplifted finger attracted the slightest attention from theathletic-looking man who was so earnestly engaged in talk with atramp. But at last the conversation was over; the two menseparated and the next taxi passing thereafter picked up a fare. 

At nine o'clock the next morning Desmond appeared for breakfastin his sitting-room at Santona Road; for such was the name of thestreet in which his new rooms were situated. When he had finishedhis meal, he summoned Gladys and informed her that he would beglad to speak to Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe. That lady having dulyanswered the summons, Desmond asked whether, in consideration ofterms to be mutually agreed upon, she could accommodate hissoldier servant. He explained that the last-named was of the mostexemplary character and threw out a hint of the value of a batmanfor such tasks as the cleaning of the family boots and thepolishing of brass or silver. 

The landlady made no objections and half an hour later a cleanand respectable-looking man arrived whom Desmond with difficultyrecognized as the wretched vagrant of the previous evening. Thiswas, indeed, the Gunner Barling he used to know, with hissmooth-shaven chin and neat brown moustache waxed at the ends andcharacteristic "quiff" decorating his brow. And so Desmond andhis man installed themselves at Santona Road. 

The house was clean and comfortable, and Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe, forall her "refaynement, " as she would have called it, provedherself a warm-hearted, motherly soul. Desmond had a small butcomfortably furnished bedroom at the top of the house, on thesecond floor, with a window which commanded a view of thediminutive garden and the back of a row of large houses standingon the lower slopes of the hill. So precipitous was the fall ofthe ground, indeed, that Desmond could look right into the gardenof the house backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's. This garden had apatch of well-kept green sward in the centre with a plaster nymphin the middle, while in one corner stood a kind of largesummer-house or pavilion built on a slight eminence, with awindow 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 hedevoted to walking about the streets of Campden Hill and settingon foot discreet inquiries after Mrs. Malplaquet amongst thelocal tradespeople. 

For three or four days he carried out this arrangement withoutthe slightest success. He dogged the footsteps of more than onegray-haired lady of distinguished appearance without lightingupon his quarry. He bestowed largesse on the constable on pointduty, on the milkman and the baker's young lady; but none of themhad ever heard of Mrs. Malplaquet or recognized her fromDesmond's description. 

On the morning of the fourth day Desmond returned to lunch, dispirited and heart-sick. He had half a mind to abandon hisquest altogether and to go and make his peace with the Chief andask to be sent back to France. He ate his lunch and then, feelingthat it would be useless to resume his aimless patrol of thestreets, lit a cigar and strolled out into the littleback-garden. 

It was a fine, warm afternoon, and already the crocuses werethrusting their heads out of the neat flower-beds as if toascertain whether the spring had really arrived. There was, indeed, a pleasant vernal scent in the air. 

"A fine day!" said a voice. 

Desmond looked up. At the open window of the summerhouse of thegarden backing on Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's, his elbows resting onthe pitch-pine frame, was a middle-aged man. A cigarette was inhis mouth and from his hands dangled a newspaper. He had asmooth-shaven, heavily-jowled face and a large pair oftortoise-shell spectacles on his nose. 

Desmond remembered to have seen the man already looking out of awindow opposite his on one of the upper floors of the house. Inreply to a casual inquiry, Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe had informed himthat the house was a nursing home kept by a Dr. Radcombe, a nervespecialist. 

"It is quite like spring!" replied Desmond, wondering if thiswere the doctor. Doctors get about a good deal and Dr. Radcombemight be able to tell him something about Mrs. Malplaquet. 

"I think we have seen one another in the mornings sometimes, "said the heavily-fowled man, "though I have noticed that you arean earlier riser than I am. But when one is an invalid--"

"You are one of Dr. Radcombe's patients, then!" said Desmond. 

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

"He has lived here for some years, I suppose?"

"Oh yes!" answered the man, "in fact, he is one of the oldest andmost-respected residents of Kensington, I believe!"

"I am rather anxious to find some friends of mine who live abouthere, " Desmond remarked, quick to seize his opportunity, "Iwonder whether your doctor could help me... "

"I'm sure he could, " the man replied, "the doctor knowseverybody... "

"The name--" began Desmond, but the other checked him. 

"Please don't ask me to burden my memory with names, " heprotested. "I am here for a complete rest from over-work, andloss of memory is one of my symptoms. But look here; why not comeover the wall and step inside the house with me? Dr. Radcombe isthere and will, I am sure, be delighted to give you anyassistance in his power!"

Desmond hesitated. 

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

"Object" said the heavily-fowled man, "tut, tut, not at all. Comeon, I'll give you a hand up!"

He thrust out a large, white hand. Desmond was about to grasp itwhen he saw gleaming on the third finger a gold snake ring withemerald 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-housewas on a level with Desmond's throat. The man's two hands shotout simultaneously. One grasped Desmond's wrist in a steel gripwhilst the other fastened itself about the young man's throat, squeezing the very breath out of his body. It was done so quicklythat he had no time to struggle, no time to shout. As Bellwardseized him, another arm was shot out of the window. Desmond felthimself gripped by the collar and lifted, by a most amazingeffort of strength, bodily over the wall. 

His brain swimming with the pressure on his throat, he struggledbut feebly to recover his freedom. However, as Desmond wasdropped heavily on to the grass on the other side of the wall, Bellward's grip relaxed just for a second and in that instantDesmond made one desperate bid for liberty. He fell in acrouching position and, as he felt Bellward loosen his hold for asecond with the jerk of his victim's fall, Desmond straightenedhimself up suddenly, catching his assailant a violent blow withhis head on the point of the chin. 

Bellward fell back with a crash on to the timber flooring of thepavilion. Desmond heard his head strike the boards with a thud, heard a muttered curse. He found himself standing in a narrowlane, less than three feet wide, which ran between the gardenwall and the summer-house; for the pavilion, erected on a slightknoll surrounded by turf, was not built against the wall as isusually the case with these structures. 

In this narrow space Desmond stood irresolute for the merestfraction of a second. It was not longer; for, directly afterBellward had crashed backwards, Desmond heard a light stepreverberate within the planks of the summerhouse. His mostobvious course was to scramble back over the wall again intosafety, in all thankfulness at having escaped so violent anattack. But he reflected that Bellward was here and that surelymeant that the others were not far off. In that instant as heheard the stealthy footstep cross the floor of the summer-house, Desmond resolved he would not leave the garden until he hadascertained whether Barbara Mackwayte was there. 

Desmond decided that he would stay where he was until he nolonger heard that footstep on the planks within; for then theperson inside the summer-house would have reached the grass atthe door. Desmond remembered the arm which had shot out besideBellward at the window and swung him so easily off his feet. Heknew only one man capable of achieving that very respectablemuscular performance; for Desmond weighed every ounce of twelvestone. That man was Maurice Strangwise. 

As soon as the creaking of the timbers within ceased, Desmondmoved to the left following the outer wall of the pavilion. Onthe soft green sward his feet made no sound. Presently he came toa window which was let in the side of the summerhouse oppositethe window from which Bellward had grappled with him. Raising hiseyes to the level of the sill, Desmond took a cautious peep. Hecaught a glimpse of the face of Maurice Strangwise, brows knit, nostrils dilated, the very picture of venomous, watchful rancor. 

Strangwise had halted and was now looking back over the wall intoMrs. Viljohn-Smythe's back garden. Was it possible, Desmondwondered, that he could believe that Desmond had scrambled backover the wall? Strangwise remained motionless, his back now fullyturned to Desmond, peering into the other garden. 

The garden in which the summer-house stood was oblong in shapeand more than twice as broad as it was long. The pavilion was notmore than forty yards from the back entrance of the house. Desmond weighed in his mind the possibility of being able to dashacross those forty yards, the turf deadening the sound of hisfeet, before Strangwise turned round again. The entrance to theback of the house was through a door in the side of the house, towhich two or three wrought-iron steps gave access. Once he hadgained the steps Desmond calculated that the side of the housewould shelter him from Strangwise's view. He turned these thingsover in his mind in the twinkling of an eye; for all his life hehad been used to quick decision and quick action. To cover thoseforty yards across the open in one bound was, he decided, toomuch to risk; for he must at all costs gain access to the houseand discover, if possible, whether Barbara Mackwayte wereconfined within, before he was caught. 

Then his eye fell on the plaster nymph in the middle of thegrass. She was a stoutly-built female, life-size, standing upon asolid-looking pedestal fully four feet broad. Desmond measuredthe distance separating him from the nymph. It was not more thantwenty yards at the outside and the pedestal would conceal himfrom the eyes of Strangwise if the latter should turn roundbefore he had made his second bound and reached the steps at theside of the house. 

He peeped through the window again. Strangwise stood in his oldattitude gazing over the garden wall. Then Desmond acted. Takinglong strides on the points of his toes, he gained the statue andcrouched down behind it. Even as he started, he heard a loudgrunt from the inside of the summerhouse and from his coverbehind the nymph saw Strangwise turn quickly and enter thesummerhouse. On that Desmond sprang to his feet again, heedlessof whether he was seen from the house, ran lightly across thegrass 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. Thehouse was wrapped in silence. Not a sign of life came fromwithin. 

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

Desmond tarried no longer. He preferred the unknown perils whichthat silent house portended to the real danger advancing from thegarden. He softly pushed the door open and slipped into thehouse. 

CHAPTER XXVII. THE RED LACQUER ROOM

The side-door led into a little white passage with a green baizedoor at the end. A staircase, which from its white-washed treads, Desmond judged to be the back stairs, gave on the passage. Calculating that the men in the garden would be certain to usethe main staircase, Desmond took the back stairs which, on thefirst 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 passedon through it. He found himself in a broad corridor on to whichgave the main staircase from below and its continuation to theupper floors. Three rooms opened on to this corridor, a largedrawing-room, a small study and what was obviously the doctor'sconsulting room, from the operating table and the array ofinstruments set out in glass cases. The rooms were empty andDesmond was about to return to the back stairs and proceed to thenext floor when his attention was caught by a series of framedphotographs with which the walls of the corridor were lined. 

These were groups of doctors taken at various medical congresses. You will find such photographs in many doctors' houses. Beloweach group were neatly printed the names of the persons thereinrepresented. Anxious to see what manner of man was this DoctorRadcombe in whose house spies were apparently at liberty toconsort with impunity, Desmond looked for his name. 

There it was--Dr. A. J. Radcombe. But, on looking at the figureabove the printed line, what was his astonishment to recognizethe angular features and drooping moustache of "No. 13"!

There was no possible mistake about it. The photographs wereexcellent and Desmond had no difficulty in identifying theeccentric-looking German in each of them. So this was Mrs. Malplaquet's house, was it? A nursing-home run by "No. 13, " whoin addition to being a spy, would seem to have been a nervespecialist as well. In this guise, no doubt, he had made trips tothe South of England which had gained for him that intimateacquaintance with Portsmouth and Southsea of which he had boastedat the gathering in the library. In this capacity, moreover, hehad probably met Bellward whose "oggult" powers, to which "No. 13" had alluded, seem to point to mesmerism and kindred practicesin which German neurasthenic research has made such immenseprogress. 

Pondering over his surprising discovery, Desmond pursued his wayto the floor above. Here, too, was a green baize door whichopened on to a corridor. Desmond walked quickly along it, glancing in, as he passed, at the open doors of two or threebedrooms. Just beyond where the staircase crossed the corridorwere two doors, both of which were closed. The one was a whitedoor and might have been a bathroom; the other was enameled abrilliant, glossy red. 

The second floor was as silent and deserted as the corridorbelow. But just as Desmond passed the head of the main staircasehe heard the sound of voices. He glanced cautiously down the wellof the stairs and saw Strangwise and Bellward talking together. Bellward was on the stairs while Strangwise stood in thecorridor. 

"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 girlalone and let's save ourselves. "

"What?" cried Strangwise, "and abandon Minna!"

"Minna is well able to look after herself, " answered Bellward ina sulky voice, "it's a question of sauve qui peat now... Everyman for himself!"

"No!" said Strangwise firmly, "we'll wait for Minna, Bellward. You exaggerate the danger. I tell you I was at the garden wallwithin a few seconds of our friend laying you out, and I saw nosign of him in his garden. It was a physical impossibility forhim to have got over the wall and back into the house in thetime. And in his garden there's nowhere to hide. It's as bare asthe Sahara!"

"But, good Heavens!" cried Bellward, throwing his hands excitedlyabove his head, "the man can't dissolve into thin air. He's goneback to the house, I tell you, and the police will be here at anyminute. You know he's not in our garden; for you searched everynook and corner of it yourself. Okewood may be too clever foryou, Strangwise; but he's not a magician!"

"No, " said Strangwise sternly, "he is not. " And he added in a lowvoice:

"That's why I am convinced that he is in this house!"

Desmond felt his heart thump against his ribs. 

Bellward seemed surprised for he cried quickly:

"What? Here?"

Strangwise nodded. 

"You stand here gossiping with that man loose in the house?"exclaimed Bellward vehemently, "why the next thing we know thefellow will escape us again!"

"Oh, no, he won't" retorted the other. "Every window on theground floor is barred... This is a home for neurasthenics, youknow, and that is sometimes a polite word for a lunatic, myfriend... And the doors, both front and back are locked. The keysare here!"

Desmond heard a jingle as Strangwise slapped his pocket. 

"All the same, " the latter went on, "it is as well to be preparedfor a sudden change of quarters. That's why I want you to finishoff the girl at once. Come along, we'll start now... "

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

"Well, as you like, " said Strangwise, "but the sooner we clear upthis thing the better. I'm going to see if our clever youngfriend has taken refuge in the servants' quarters upstairs. He'snot on this floor, that's certain!"

Desmond drew back in terror. He heard the green baize door on thefloor below swing back as Strangwise went out to the back stairsand Bellward's heavy step ascended the main staircase. There wassomething so horribly sinister in that firm, creaking tread as itmounted towards him that for the moment he lost his head. Helooked round wildly for a place of concealment; but the corridorwas bare. Facing him was the red enamel door. Boldly he turnedthe handle and walked in, softly closing the door behind him. 

It was as though he had stepped into another world. The room inwhich he found himself was a study in vivid red emphasized byblack. Red and black; these were the only colors in the room. Thecurtains, which were of black silk, were drawn, though it was notyet dark outside, and from the ceiling was suspended a lamp inthe shape of a great scarlet bowl which cast an eerie red lighton one of the most bizarre apartments that Desmond had ever seen. 

It was a lacquer room in the Chinese style, popularized by thecraze for barbaric decoration introduced by Bakst and the RussianBallet into England. The walls were enameled the same brilliantglossy red as the door and hung at intervals with panels ofmagnificent black and gold lacquer work. The table which ran downthe centre of the room was of scarlet and gold lacquer like thefantastically designed chairs and the rest of the furniture. Theheavy carpet was black. 

Desmond did not take in all these details at once; for hisattention was immediately directed to a high-backed armchaircovered in black satin which stood with its back to the door. Hestared at this chair; for, peeping out above the back, making asplash of deep golden brown against the black sheen of theupholstery, was a mass of curls... Barbara Mackwayte's hair. 

As he advanced towards the girl, she moaned in a high, whimperingvoice:

"No, no, not again! Let me sleep! Please, please, leave mealone!"

Desmond sprang to her side. 

"Barbara!" he cried and never noticed that he called her by herChristian name. 

Barbara Mackwayte sat in the big black armchair, facing theblack-curtained window. Her face was pale and drawn, and therewere black circles under her eyes. There was a listless yethighly-strung look about her that you see in people whohabitually take drugs. 

She heeded not the sound of his voice. It was as though he hadnot spoken. She only continued to moan and mutter, moving herbody about uneasily as a child does when its sleep is disturbedby nightmares. Then, to his inexpressible horror, Desmond sawthat her feet were bound with straps to the legs of the chair. Her arms were similarly tethered to the arms of the chair, buther hands had been left free. 

"Barbara!" said Desmond softly, "you know me! I'm Desmond Okewood!I've come to take you home!"

The word "home" seemed to catch the girl's attention; for now sheturned her head and looked at the young man. The expression inher eyes, wide and staring, was horrible; for it was the look ofa tortured animal. 

Desmond was bending to unbind the straps that fastened Barbara'sarms when he heard a step outside the door. The curtains in frontof the window were just beside him. They were long and reached tothe floor. Without a second's hesitation he slipped behind themand found himself in the recess of a shallow bow window. 

The bow window was in three parts and the central part was openwide at the bottom. It gave on a little balcony which was inreality the roof of a bow window of one of the rooms on the floorbelow. Desmond promptly scrambled out of the window and lettinghimself drop on to the balcony crouched down blow the sill. 

A door opened in the room he had just left. He heard steps movingabout and cupboards opened and shut. Then, there was the sound ofcurtains being drawn back and a voice said just above him:

"He's not here! I tell you the fellow's not in the house! Nowperhaps you'll believe me!"

The balcony was fairly deep and it was growing dusk; but Desmondcould scarcely hope to escape detection if Bellward, for he hadrecognized his voice, should think of leaning out of the windowand looking down upon the balcony. With his coat collar turned upto hide the treacherous white of his linen, Desmond pressedhimself as close as possible against the side of the house andwaited for the joyful cry that would proclaim that he had beendiscovered. There was no possible means of escape; for thebalcony stood at an angle of the house with no windows orwater-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 thehouse without delay, examined the balcony or not, Desmond did notknow; but after the agony of suspense had endured for what seemedto him an hour, he heard Strangwise say:

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

Bellward swore savagely. 

"We've searched the garden and not found him: we've ransacked thehouse from top to bottom without result. The fellow's not here;but by God, he'll be here presently with a bunch of police, andthen it'll be too late! For the last time, Strangwise, will youclear out?"

There was a moment's pause. Then Desmond heard Strangwise'sclear, calm voice. 

"There's a balcony there... Below the window, I mean. "

"I've looked, " replied Bellward, "and he's not there. You can seefor yourself!"

The moment of discovery had arrived. To Desmond the strain seemedunbearable and to alleviate it, he began to count, as one countsto woo sleep. One! two! three! four! He heard a grating noise asthe window was pushed further up. Five! six! seven! eight!

"Strange!"

Strangwise muttered the word just above Desmond's head. Then, tohis inexpressible relief, he heard the other add:

"He's not there!"

And Desmond realized that the depth of the balcony had saved him. Short of getting out of the window, as he had done, the otherscould not see him. 

The two men returned to the room and silence fell once more. Outside on the damp balcony in the growing darkness Desmond wasfighting down the impulse to rush in and stake all in onedesperate attempt to rescue the girl from her persecutors. But hewas learning caution; and he knew he must bide his time. 

Some five minutes elapsed during which Desmond could detect nodefinite sound from the red lacquer room except the occasionallow murmur of voices. Then, suddenly, there came a high, quavering cry from the girl. 

Desmond raised himself quickly erect, his ear turned so as tocatch every sound from the room. The girl wailed again, aplaintive, tortured cry that seemed to issue forth unwillinglyfrom her. 

"My God!" said Desmond to himself, "I can't stand this!"

His head was level with the sill of the window which wasfortunately broad. Getting a good grip on the rough cement withhis hands, he hoisted himself up on to the sill, by the sheerforce of his arms alone, sat poised there for an instant, thenvery lightly and without any noise, clambered through the windowand into the room. Even as he did so, the girl cried out again. 

"I can't! I can't!" she wailed. 

Every nerve in Desmond's body was tingling with rage. The bloodwas hotly throbbing against his temples and he was literallyquivering all over with fury. But he held himself in check. Thistime he must not fail. Both those men were armed, he knew. Whatchance could he, unarmed as he was, have against them? He mustwait, wait, that they might not escape their punishment. 

Steadying the black silk curtains with his hands, he lookedthrough the narrow chink where the two panels met. And this waswhat he saw. 

Barbara Mackwayte was still in the chair; but they had unfastenedher arms though her feet were still bound. She had half-risenfrom her seat. Her body was thrust forward in a strained, unnatural attitude; her eyes were wide open and staring; andthere was a little foam on her lips. There was somethinghideously deformed, horribly unlife-like about her. Though hereyes were open, her look was the look of the blind; and, like theblind, she held her head a little on one side as though eager notto miss the slightest sound. 

Bellward stood beside her, his face turned in profile to Desmond. His eyes were dilated and the sweat stood out in great beads onhis forehead and trickled in broad lanes of moisture down hisheavy cheeks. He was half-facing the girl and every time he benttowards her, she tugged and strained at her bonds as though tofollow him. 

"You say he has been here. Where is he? Where is he? You shalltell me where he is. "

Bellward was speaking in a strange, vibrating voice. Everyquestion appeared to be a tremendous nervous effort. Desmond, whowas keenly sensitive to matters psychic, could almost feel themagnetic power radiating from the man. In the weird red light ofthe room, he could see the veins standing out like whipcords onthe back of Bellward's hands. 

"Tell me where he is? I command you!"

The girl wailed out again in agony and writhed in her bonds. Hervoice rose to a high, gurgling scream. 

"There!" she cried, pointing with eyes staring, lips parted, straight at the curtains behind which Desmond stood. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. AN OFFER FROM STRANGWISE

Desmond sprang for the window; but it was too late. Strangwisewho had not missed a syllable of the interrogatory was at thecurtains in a flash. As he plucked the hangings back, Desmondmade a rush for him; but Strangwise, wary as ever, kept his headand, drawing back, jabbed his great automatic almost in theother's face. 

And then Desmond knew the game was up. 

Barbara had collapsed in her chair. Her face was of an ivorypallor and she seemed to have fallen back into the characteristichypnotic trance. As for Bellward, he had dropped on to a sofa, aloose mass, exhausted but missing nothing of what was goingforward, though, for the moment, he seemed too spent to take anyactive part in the proceedings. In the meantime Strangwise, hiswhite, even teeth bared in a quiet smile, was very steadilylooking at his prisoner. 

"Well, Desmond, " he said at last, "here's a pleasant surprise! Ithought you were dead!"

Desmond said nothing. He was not a coward as men go; but he wasfeeling horribly afraid just then. The deviltry of the scene hehad just witnessed had fairly unmanned him. The red and blacksetting of the room had a suggestion of Oriental cruelty in itsvery garishness. Desmond looked from Strangwise, cool andsmiling, to Bellward, gross and beastly, and from the two men toBarbara, wan and still and defenceless. And he was afraid. 

Then Bellward scrambled clumsily to his feet, plucking a revolverfrom his inside pocket as he did so. 

"You sneaking rascal, " he snarled, "we'll teach you to play yourdirty tricks on us!"

He raised the pistol; but Strangwise stepped between the man andhis victim. 

"Kill him!" cried Bellward, "and let's be rid of him once and forall!"

"What" said Strangwise. "Kill Desmond? Ah, no, my friend, I don'tthink so!"

And he added drily:

"At least not quite yet!"

"But you must be mad, " exclaimed Bellward, toying impatientlywith his weapon, "you let him escape through your fingers before!I know his type. A man like him is only safe when he's dead. Andif you won't... "

"Now, Bellward, " said Strangwise not budging but looking theother calmly in the eye, "you're getting excited, you know. "

But Bellward muttered thickly:

"Kill him! That's all I ask. And let's get out of here! I tellyou it isn't safe! Minna can shift for herself!" he addedsulkily. 

"As she has always done!" said a voice at the door. Mrs. Malplaquet stood there, a very distinguished looking figure inblack with a handsome set of furs. 

"But who's this?" she asked, catching sight of Desmond, as sheflashed her beady black eyes round the group. Of Barbara she tooknot the slightest notice. Desmond remarked it and herindifference shocked him profoundly. 

"Of course, you don't recognize him!" said Strangwise. "This isMajor Desmond Okewood, more recently known as Mr. BasilBellward!"

The woman evinced no surprise. 

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

"That's what I want to know!" bellowed Bellward savagely. 

"I have not finished with our friend here!" observed Strangwise. 

"No, no, " cried Mrs. Malplaquet quickly, Strangwise, "you've hadyour lesson. You've lost the jewel and you're not likely to getit back unless you think that this young man has come here withit on him. Do you want to lose your life, the lives of all of us, as well? Come, come, the fellow's no earthly good to us! And he'sa menace to us all as long as he's alive!"

"Minna, " said Strangwise, "you must trust me. Besides... " heleaned forward and whispered something in her ear. "Now, " heresumed aloud, "you shall take Bellward downstairs and leave meto have a little chat with our friend here. "

To Bellward he added:

"Minna will tell you what I said. But first, " he pointed toBarbara who remained apparently lifeless in her chair, "bring herround. 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, " hesaid. 

In the meantime, Bellward had leaned over the girl and with a fewpasses of his hand had brought her back to consciousness. She satup, one hand pressed to her face, and looked about her in a dazedfashion. On recognizing Desmond she gave a little cry. 

"Take her away!" commanded Strangwise. 

Bellward had unfastened the ropes binding her feet, and he andMrs. Malplaquet between them half-dragged, half-lifted the girl(for she was scarcely able to walk) from the room. 

When the door had closed behind them, Strangwise pointed to achair and pulled out his cigarette case. "Sit down, Desmond, " hesaid, "and let's talk. Will you smoke?"

He held out his case. A cigarette was the one thing for whichDesmond craved. He took one and lit it. Strangwise sat down onthe other side of a curiously carved ebony table, his bigautomatic before him. 

"I guess you're sharp enough to know when you're beaten, Desmond, " he said. "You've put up a good fight and until thisafternoon you were one up on me. I'll grant you that. And I don'tmind admitting that you've busted up my little organization--forthe present at any rate. But I'm on top now and you're in ourpower, old man. "

"Well, " replied Desmond shortly, "what are you going to do aboutit?"

"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 militarywriters teach, isn't it? And I'm going to be frank with you. Isuppose you realize that your life hung by a thread in this veryroom only a minute ago. Do you know why I intervened to saveyou?"

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 anenemy. 

"I don't suppose it was because of the love you bear me, " repliedDesmond. 

And he rubbed the bump on his head. 

Strangwise noted the action and smiled. 

"Listen here, " he resumed, planking his hands down on the tableand leaning forward, "I'm ready and anxious to quit this spyingbusiness. It was only a side line with me anyway. My main objectin coming to this country was to recover possession of thatdiamond star. Once I've got it back, I'm through with England... "

"But not with the army, " Desmond broke in, "thank God, we've gota swift way with traitors in this country!"

"Quite so, " returned the other, "but you see, my friend, the armyhasn't got me. And I have got you! But let us drop talkingplatitudes, " he went on. "I'm no great hand at driving a bargain, Desmond--few army men are, you know--so I won't even attempt tochaffer with you. I shall tell you straight out what I am readyto offer. You were given the job of breaking up thisorganization, weren't you?"

Desmond was silent. He was beginning to wonder what Strangwisewas driving at. 

"Oh, you needn't trouble to deny it. I never spotted you, Iadmit, even when the real Bellward turned up: that idea ofputting your name in the casualty list as 'killed' was amasterstroke; for I never looked to find you alive and trying toput it across me. But to return to what I was saying--your jobwas to smash my little system, and if you pull it off, it's afeather in your cap. Well, you've killed two of my people andyou've arrested the ringleader. "

"Meaning Behrend?" asked Desmond. 

"Behrend be hanged! I mean Nur-el-Din!"

"Nur-el-Din was not the ringleader, " said Desmond, "as well youknow, Strangwise!"

"Your employers evidently don't share your views, Desmond, " hereplied, "all the documents were found on Nur-el-Din!"

"Bah!" retorted Desmond, "and what of it? Mightn't they have beenplanted on her in order to get her arrested to draw the suspicionaway from the real criminal, yourself?"

Strangwise laughed a low, mellow laugh. 

"You're devilish hard to convince, " he remarked. "Perhaps you'llchange your mind about it when I tell you that Nur-el-Din wassentenced to death by a general court-martial yesterdayafternoon. "

The blow struck Desmond straight between the eyes. The executionof spies followed hard on their conviction, he knew. Was he toolate?

"Has... Has she... Has the sentence already been carried out?" heasked hoarsely. 

Strangwise shrugged his shoulders. 

"My information didn't go as far as that!" he replied. "But Iexpect so. They don't waste much time over these matters, oldman! You see, then, " he continued, "you've got the ringleader, and you shall have the other two members of the organization andsave your own life into the bargain if you will be reasonable andtreat with me. "

Desmond looked straight at him; and Strangwise averted his eyes. 

"Let me get this right, " said Desmond slowly. "You let me gofree--of course, I take it that my liberty includes the releaseof Miss Mackwayte as well--and in addition, you hand over to meyour two accomplices, Bellward and the Malplaquet woman. That isyour offer, isn't it? Well, what do you want from me inexchange?"

"The Star of Poland!" said Strangwise in a low voice. 

"But, " Desmond began. He was going to add "I haven't got it, " butchecked himself in time. Why should he show his hand?

Strangwise broke in excitedly. 

"Man, " he cried, "it was grandly done. When first I discoveredthe gem, I opened the package in which the silver box was wrappedand 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 firmintention that no other hand should break the seals but the handof His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince when I reported to himthat I had fulfilled my mission. So you will understand that Iwas loth to open it to satisfy those blockheads that evening atthe Mill House. 

"I carried the package on me night and day and I could hardlybelieve my eyes when I discovered that a box of cigarettes hadbeen substituted for the silver casket containing the jewel. Ithen suspected that Barbara Mackwayte, in collusion withNur-el-Din, whom she had visited at the Dyke Inn that evening, had played this trick on me. But before I escaped from the MillHouse I picked up one of the cigarettes which fell from the boxwhen I broke the seals. Ah! There you made a slip, Desmond. WhenI looked at the cigarette I found it was a 'Dionysus'--your ownparticular brand--why, I have smoked dozens of them with you inFrance. The sight of the familiar name reminded me of you andthen I remembered your unexpected visit to me at the Nineveh whenI was packing up to go away on leave the evening you were goingback to France. I remembered that I had put the package with thejewel on my table for a moment when I was changing my tunic. Yourappearance drove it out of my head for the time, and you utilizedthe chance to substitute a similar package for mine. It wasclever, Desmond, 'pon my word it was a stroke of genius, a mastercoup which in my country would have placed you at the very top ofthe tree in the Great General Staff!"

Desmond listened to this story in amazement. He did not attemptto speculate on the different course events would have taken hadhe but known that the mysterious jewel which had cost oldMackwayte his life, had been in his, Desmond's, possession fromthe very day on which he had assumed the guise and habiliments ofMr. Bellward. He was racking his brains to think what he had donewith the box of cigarettes he had purchased at the Dionysus shopon the afternoon of the day he had taken the leave train back toFrance. 

He remembered perfectly buying the cigarettes for the journey. But he didn't have them on the journey; for the captain of theleave boat had given him some cigars as Desmond had nothing tosmoke. And then with a flash he remembered. He had packed thecigarettes in his kit--his kit which had gone over to France inthe hold of the leave boat? And to think that there was a 100, 000pound 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. Yourestore it to me and I won't even ask you for a safe conduct backto Germany. I'll just slide out and it will be as if I had neverbeen to England at all. As for my organization, you, DesmondOkewood, have blown it sky-high!"

He stretched out his hand to Desmond as though he expected theother to produce the gem from his pocket. But Desmond rose to hisfeet and struck the hand contemptuously on one side. The smilehad 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 amoment! Here's my answer. You've lost the jewel for good and all, and you will never get it back. Your offer to betray youraccomplices to me in exchange for the Star of Poland is an emptyone; for your accomplices will be arrested with you. And lastly Igive you my word that I shall make it my personal duty to seethat you are not shot by clean-handed British soldiers, butstrung up by the neck by the common hangman--as the murderer thatyou are!"

Strangwise's face underwent an extraordinary change. His suavityvanished, his easy smile disappeared and he looked balefullyacross the table as the other fearlessly confronted him. 

"If you are a German, as you seem to be, " Desmond went on, "thenI tell you I shall never have guessed it until this interviewbetween us. But a man who can murder a defenceless old man andtorture a young girl and then propose to sell his pals to aBritish officer at the price of that officer's honor can only bea Hun! And you seem to be a pretty fine specimen of your race!"

Strangwise mastered his rising passion by an obvious effort; buthis face was evil as he spoke. 

"I put that Malplaquet woman off by appealing to her avarice, " hesaid, "I've promised her and Bellward a thousand pounds apiece astheir share of my reward for recovering the jewel. I only have tosay the word, Okewood, and your number's up! And you may as wellknow that Bellward will try his hand on you before he kills you. If that girl had known where the Star of Poland was, Bellwardwould have had it out of her! Three times a day he's put her intothe hypnotic sleep. I warn you, you won't like theinterrogatory!"

The door flew open and Bellward came in. He went eagerly toStrangwise. 

"Well, have you got it!" he demanded. 

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

Desmond shook his head. 

"You've had my answer!" he said doggedly. 

"Then, my friend, " said Strangwise to Bellward, "after dinner youshall try your hand on this obstinate fool. But first we'll takehim upstairs. "

He was close beside Desmond and as he finished speaking hesuddenly caught him by the throat and forced him back into thechair to which Barbara had been tethered. To struggle wasuseless, and Desmond suffered them to bind his arms and feet tothe 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 thirdfloor. There they carried him into a dark room where they lefthim, turning the key in the lock as they went away. 

CHAPTER XXIX. DOT AND DASH

For a long time after the retreating footsteps of Strangwise andBellward had died away, Desmond sat listless, preoccupied withhis thoughts. They were somber enough. The sinister atmosphere ofthe house, weighing upon him, seemed to deepen his depression. 

About his own position he was not concerned at all. This is notan example of unselfishness it is simply an instance of the forceof discipline which trains a man to reckon the cause aseverything and himself as naught. And Desmond was haunted by theawful conviction that he had at length reached the end of histether and that nothing could now redeem the ignominious failurehe had made of his mission. 

He had sacrificed Barbara Mackwayte; he had sacrificedNur-el-Din; he had not even been clever enough to save his ownskin. And Strangwise, spy and murderer, had escaped and was nowfree to reorganize his band after he had put Barbara and Desmondout of the way. 

The thought was so unbearable that it stung Desmond into action. Strangwise should not get the better of him, he resolved, and hehad yet this brief interval of being alone in which he mightdevise some scheme to rescue Barbara and secure the arrest ofStrangwise and his accomplices. But how?

He raised his head and looked round the room. The curtains hadnot been drawn and enough light came into the room from theoutside to enable him to distinguish the outlines of thefurniture. It was a bedroom, furnished in rather a massive style, with some kind of thick, soft carpet into, which the feet sank. 

Desmond tested his bonds. He was very skillfully tied up. Hefancied that with a little manipulation he might contrive toloosen the rope round his right arm, for one of the knots hadcaught in the folds of his coat. The thongs round his left armand two legs were, however, so tight that he thought he had butlittle chance of ridding himself of them, even should he get hisright arm free; for the knots were tied at the back under theseat of the chair in such a way that he could not reach them. 

He, therefore, resigned himself to conducting operations in thehighly ridiculous posture in which he found himself, that is tosay, with a large arm-chair attached to him, rather like a snailwith its house on its back. After a certain amount of maneuveringhe discovered that, by means of a kind of slow, lumbering crawl, he was able to move across the ground. It might have proved anoisy business on a parquet floor; but Desmond moved only a footor two at a time and the pile carpet deadened the sound. 

They had deposited him in his chair in the centre of the roomnear the big brass bedstead. After ten minutes' painful crawlinghe had reached the toilet table which stood in front of thewindow with a couple of electric candles on either side of themirror. He moved the toilet table to one side, then bumpedsteadily across the carpet until he had reached the window. Andthen he gave a little gasp of surprise. 

He found himself looking straight at the window of his ownbedroom at Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's. There was no mistaking it. Theelectric light was burning and the curtains had not yet beendrawn. He could see the black and pink eiderdown on his bed andthe black lining of the chintz curtains. Then he remembered theslope of the hill. He must be in the room from which he had seenBellward looking out. 

The sight of the natty bedroom across the way moved Desmondstrangely. It seemed to bring home to him for the first time theextraordinary position in which he found himself, a prisoner in aperfectly respectable suburban house in a perfectly respectablequarter of London, in imminent danger of a violent death. 

He wouldn't give in without a struggle. Safety stared him in theface, separated only by a hundred yards of grass and shrub andwall. He instinctively gripped the arms of the chair to raisehimself to get a better view from the window, forgetting he wasbound. The ropes cut his arms cruelly and brought him back toearth. 

He tested again the thongs fastening his right arm. Yes! theywere undoubtedly looser than the others. He pulled and tugged andwrithed and strained. Once in his struggles he crashed into thetoilet table and all but upset one of the electric candles whichslid to the table's very brink and was saved, as by a miracle, from falling to the floor. He resumed his efforts, but with lessviolence. It was in vain. Though the ropes about his right armwere fairly loose, the wrist was solidly fastened to the chair, and do what he would, he could not wrest it free. He claweddesperately with his fingers and thumb, but all in vain. 

In the midst of his struggles he was arrested by the sound ofwhistling. Somebody in the distance outside was whistling, clearly and musically, a quaint, jingling sort of jig that struckfamiliarly on Desmond's ear. Somehow it reminded him of thefront. It brought with it dim memory of the awakening to theearly morning chill of a Nissen hut, the smell of damp earth, thewhirr of aircraft soaring through the morning sky, the squeak offlutes, the roll of drums... Why, it was the Grand Reveille, that ancient military air which every soldier knows. 

He stopped struggling and peered cautiously out into the dusk. The time for darkening the windows must be at hand, he thought, for in most of the houses the blinds were already drawn. Here andthere, however, an oblong of yellow light showed up against thedark mass of the houses on the upper slopes of the hill. Thecurtains of his bedroom at Mrs. Viljohn-Smythe's were not yetdrawn and the light still burned brightly above the bed. 

The whistling continued with occasional interruptions as thoughthe whistler were about some work or other. And then suddenly"Buzzer" Barling, holding something in one hand and rubbingviolently with the other, stepped into the patch of light betweenthe window and the bed in Desmond's bedroom. 

Desmond's heart leaped within him. Here was assistance close athand. Mechanically he sought to raise his hand to open thewindow, but an agonising twinge reminded him of his thongs. Heswiftly reviewed in his mind the means of attracting theattention of the soldier opposite. Whatever he was going to do, he must do quickly; for the fact that people were beginning todarken their windows showed that it must be close on half-pastsix, and about seven o'clock, Barling, after putting outDesmond's things, was accustomed to go out for the evening. 

Should he shout? Should he try and break the window? Desmondrejected both these suggestions. While it was doubtful whetherBarling would hear the noise or, if he heard it, connect it withDesmond, it was certain that Strangwise and Bellward would doboth and be upon Desmond without a moment's delay. 

Then Desmond's eye fell upon the electric candle which had slidto the very edge of the table. It was mounted in a heavy brasscandle-stick and the switch was in the pedestal, jutting out overthe edge of the table in the position in which the candle nowstood. The candle was clear of the mirror and there was nothingbetween it and the window. Desmond's brain took all this in at aglance. That glance showed him that Providence was being good tohim. 

A couple of jerks of the chair brought him alongside the table. Its edge was practically level with the arms of the chair sothat, by getting into the right position, he was able tomanipulate the switch with his fingers. And then, thanking Godand the Army Council for the recent signalling course he hadattended, he depressed the switch with a quick, snapping movementand jerked it up again, sending out the dots and dashes of theMorse code. 

"B-A-R-L-I-N-G" he spelt out, slowly and laboriously, it is true;for he was not an expert. 

As he worked the switch, he looked across at the illuminatedwindow of the room in which Barling stood, with bent head, earnestly engaged upon his polishing. 

"B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack-B-a-r-l-i-n-g-ack-ack-ack"

The light flickered up and down in long and short flashes. Still"Buzzer" Barling trilled away at the "Grand Reveille" nor raisedhis eyes from his work. 

Desmond varied the call:

"O-K-E-W-O-O-D T-O B-A-R-L-I-N-G" he flashed. 

He repeated the call twice and was spelling it out for the thirdtime when Desmond saw the "Buzzer" raise his head. 

The whistling broke off short. 

"O-k-e-w-o-o-d t-o B-a-r-l-i-n-g" flickered the light. 

The next moment the bedroom opposite was plunged in darkness. Immediately afterwards the light began to flash with bewilderingrapidity. But Desmond recognized the call. 

"I am ready to take your message, " it said. 

"S-t-r-a-n-g-w-i-s-e h-a-s g-o-t m-e ack-ack-ack, " Desmondflashed back, "f-e-t-c-h h-e-l-p a-t o-n-c-e ack-ack-ack: d-o-n-tr-e-p-l-y; ack-ack-ack; s-e-n-d o-n-e d-o-t o-n-e d-a-s-h t-os-h-o-w y-o-u u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d ack-ack-ack!"

For he was afraid lest the light flashing from the house oppositemight attract the attention of the men downstairs. 

He was very slow and he made many mistakes, so that it was withbated breath that, after sending his message, he watched thewindow opposite for the reply. 

It came quickly. A short flash and a long one followed at once. After that the room remained in darkness. With a sigh of reliefDesmond, as quietly as possible, manoeuvred the dressing-tableback into place and then jerked the chair across the carpet tothe position where Strangwise and Bellward had left him in themiddle of the floor:

It was here that the two men found him, apparently asleep, whenthey came up half-an-hour later. They carried him down to the redlacquer room again. 

"Well, Desmond!" said Strangwise, when their burden had beendeposited on the floor under the crimson lamp. 

"Well, Maurice?" answered the other. 

Strangwise noticed that Desmond had addressed him by hisChristian name for the first time since he had been in the houseand his voice was more friendly when he spoke again. 

"I see you're going to be sensible, old man, " he said. "Believeme, it's the only thing for you to do. You're going to give upthe Star of Poland, aren't you?"

"Oh, no, Maurice, I'm not, " replied Desmond in a frank, evenvoice. "I've told you what I'm going to do. I'm going to hand youover to the people at Pentonville to hang as a murderer. And Ishouldn't be at all surprised if they didn't run up old Bellwardthere alongside of you!"

Strangwise shook his head at him. 

"You are very ill-advised to reject my offer, Desmond, " he said, "for it simply means that I can do nothing more for you. Ourfriend Bellward now assumes the direction of affairs. I don'tthink you can realize what you are letting yourself in for. Youappear to have been dabbling in Intelligence work. Perhaps itwould interest you to hear something about this, our latestGerman method for extracting Accurate information from reluctantor untruthful witnesses. Bellward, perhaps you would enlightenhim. "

Bellward smiled grimly. 

"It is a blend, " he explained glibly, "of that extreme form ofcross-examination which the Americans call 'the third degree' andhypnotic treatment. Many people, as you are doubtless aware, areless responsive to hypnotic influence than others. An intensifiedcourse of the third degree and lack of sleep renders suchrefractory natures extraordinarily susceptible to mesmerictreatment. It prepares the ground as it were!"

Bellward coughed and looked at Desmond over his tortoise-shellspectacles which he had put on again. 

"The method has had its best results when practised on women, " heresumed. "Our people in Holland have found it very successful inthe case of female spies who come across the Belgian frontier. But some women--Miss Barbara, for example--seem to have greaterpowers of resistance than others. We had to employ a ratherdrastic 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 willcome!"

"Yours first, however, " chuckled Bellward. "I rather fancy youwill think us beasts by the time we have done with you, my youngfriend!"

Then he turned to Strangwise. 

"Where's Minna?" he asked. 

"With the girl. "

"Is the girl sleeping?"

Strangwise nodded. 

"She wanted it, " he replied, "no sleep for four days... I tellyou 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 astart!"

He advanced a pace to where Desmond sat trussed up, hand andfoot, in his chair. Bellward's eyes were large and luminous, andas Desmond glanced rather nervously at the face of the manapproaching him, he was struck by the compelling power theyseemed to emit. 

Desmond bent his head to avoid the insistent gaze. But in acouple of quick strides Bellward was at his side and stoopingdown, had thrust his face right into his victim's. Bellward'sface was so close that Desmond felt his warm breath on his cheekwhilst those burning eyes seemed to stab through his closedeyelids and steadily, stealthily, draw his gaze. 

Resolutely Desmond held his head, averted. All kinds of queerideas were racing through his brain, fragments of nursery rhymes, scenes from his regimental life in India, memories of the front, which he had deliberately summoned up to keep his attentiondistracted from those merciless eyes, like twin search-lightspitilessly playing on his face. 

Bellward could easily have taken Desmond by the chin and forcedhis face up until his eyes came level with the other's. But heoffered no violence of any kind. He remained in his stoopingposition, his face thrust forward, so perfectly still thatDesmond began to be tormented by a desire to risk a rapid peepjust to see what the mesmerist was doing. 

He put the temptation aside. He must keep his eyes shut, he toldhimself. But the desire increased, intensified by the strongattraction radiating from Bellward, and finally Desmondsuccumbed. He opened his eyes to dart a quick glance at Bellwardand found the other's staring eyes, with pupils distended, fixedon his. And Desmond felt his resistance ebb. He tried to averthis gaze; but it was too late. That basilisk glare held him fast. 

With every faculty of his mind he fought against the influencewhich was slowly, irresistibly, shackling his brain. He laughed, he shouted defiance at Bellward and Strangwise, he sang snatchesof songs. But Bellward never moved a muscle. He seemed to be in akind of cataleptic trance, so rigid his body, so unswerving hisstare. 

The lights in the room seemed to be growing dim. Bellward'seyeballs gleamed redly in the dull crimson light flooding theroom. Desmond felt himself longing for some violent shock thatwould disturb the hideous stillness of the house. His own voicewas sounding dull and blunted in his ears. What was the use ofstruggling further? He might as well give up... 

A loud crash, the sound of a door slamming, reechoed through thehouse. The room shook. The noise brought Desmond back to hissenses and at the same time the chain binding him to Bellwardsnapped. For Bellward started and raised his head and Strangwisesprang to the door. Then Desmond heard the door burst open, therewas the deafening report of a pistol, followed by another, andBellward crashed forward on his knees with a sobbing grunt. AsDesmond had his back to the door he could see nothing of what wastaking place, but some kind of violent struggle was going on; forhe heard the smash of glass as a piece of furniture was upset. 

Then suddenly the room seemed full of people. The thongs bindinghis hands and feet fell to the ground. "Buzzer" Barling stood athis side. 

CHAPTER XXX. HOHENLINDEN TRENCH

A man broke quickly away from the throng of people pressing intothe room. It was Francis. The Chief and Mr. Marigold were closeat his heels. 

"Des, " cried Francis, "ah! thank God! you are all right!"

Desmond looked in a dazed fashion from one to the other. Therapid transition from the hush of the room to the scene ofconfusion going on around him had left him bewildered. His glancetraveled from the faces of the men gathered round his chair tothe floor. The sight of Bellward, very still, hunched up with hisface immersed in the thick black carpet, seemed to recallsomething to his mind. 

"Barbara!" he murmured in a strained voice. 

"She's all right!" replied his brother, "we found her on the bedin a room on the floor below sleeping the sleep of the just. Thewoman's vanished, though. I'm afraid she got away! But who'sthis?"

He pointed to "Buzzer" Barling who stood stiffly at attentionbeside Desmond's chair. 

"Ay, who are you, young fellow" repeated Mr. Marigold coming upclose to the soldier. "Ask him!" said Desmond, raising his arm, "he knows!"

The group around the door had broken up. Strangwise, his wristshandcuffed together, his hair dishevelled and his collar torn, stood there between two plain clothes men. And at him Desmondpointed. 

Strangwise was staring at the straight, square figure of thegunner, awkwardly attired in one of Desmond's old suits. Berling's frank, honest eyes returned the other's gazeunflinchingly. But Strangwise was obviously taken aback, thoughonly for the moment. The flush that mounted to his cheek quicklydied down, leaving him as cool and impassive as ever. 

"Do you know this man!" the Chief, asked sternly, addressingStrangwise. 

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

Mr. Marigold gave a keen glance at the soldier. 

"So you're Barling, eh?" he muttered as though talking tohimself, "ah! this is getting interesting!"

"Yes, " said Desmond, "this is Gunner Barling. Have a good look athim, Strangwise. It is he who summoned these gentlemen to myassistance. It is he who's going to tell them who and what youare!"

Turning to the Chief he added with a touch of formality: "MayGunner Barling tell his story, sir?"

"By all means, " replied the Chief. "I am all attention. But firstlet this fellow be removed. "

And beckoning to two of his men; he pointed to the body ofBellward. 

"Is he dead" asked Desmond. 

The Chief shook his head. 

"He drew a bead on one of my men as we came in, " he answered, "and got a bullet through the chest for his pains. We'll have tocure him of this gunshot wound so as to get him ready to receiveanother!"

He laughed a grim dry laugh at his little joke. 

"Now, Barling, " said Desmond, when Bellward had been borne away, "I want you to tell these gentlemen the story of the raid on theHohenlinden trench. "

Barling glanced rather self-consciously about him. But the lookof intense, almost nervous watchfulness on the face of MauriceStrangwise seemed to reassure him. And when he spoke, he spokestraight at Strangwise. 

"Well, " he said, "Major Okewood here, what I used to know alongof my brother being his servant, says as how you gentlemen'llmake it all right about my stoppin' absent if I tells you what Iknow about this orficer. Tell it I will and gladly; for it wasall along of him that I spoiled a clean sheet of eighteen years'service, gentlemen. 

"When we was down Arras way a few months ago the infantry wasa-goin' to do a raid, see? And the Captain here was sent along ofthe infantry party to jine up a lineback to the 'tillery brigadeheadquarters. Well, he took me and another chap, name o'Macdonald--Bombardier he was--along with him as signallers. 

"This was a daylight raid, d'ye see, gentlemen? Our chaps wentover at four o'clock in the afternoon. They was to enter a sorto' bulge in the German front line wot they called HohenlindenTrench, bomb the Gers. Out o' that, push on to the support lineand clear out that and then come back. The rocket to fetch 'emhome was to go up forty minutes after they started. 

"Well, me and Mac--that's the Bombardier--went over with th'officer here just behind the raiding party. O' course Fritz knewwe was comin' for it was broad daylight, and that clear you couldsee for miles over the flats. First thing we knew Fritz had putdown a roarin', tearin' barrage, and we hadn't gone not twentyyards before ole Mac. Cops one right on the nut; about took hishead off, it did. So me and the captain we goes on alone anddrops all nice and comfortable in the trench, and I startsgetting my line jined up. 

"It was a longish job but I got the brigade line goin' at last. Our chaps had cleared out the front line and was off down thecommunication trenches to the support. What with machine-gunsrattlin' and bombs a-goin' off down the trench and Fritz'sbarrage all over the shop the row was that awful we had to buzzevery single word. 

"There was a bit of a house like, a goodish way in front, X farm, they called it, and presently the Brigade tells the Captain, whowas buzzin' to them, to register B battery on to the farm. 

"'I can't see the farm nohow from here, ' sez the Captain. I couldsee it as plain as plain, and I pointed it out to him. But no! hecouldn't see it. 

"'I'll crawl out of the trench a bit, gunner, ' sez he to me, 'yousit tight, ' he sez, 'I'll let you know when to follow!"

"With that he up and out o' the trench leavin' me and theinstruments behind all among the dead Gers. , and our lads hadkilled a tidy few. It was pretty lonely round about were I was;for our chaps had all gone on and was bombin' the Gers. , likethey was a lot o' rabbits, up and down the support line. 

"I followed the Captain with me eye, gentlemen, and I'm blessedif he didn't walk straight across the open and over the supporttrench. Then he drops into a bit of a shell-hole and I lost sightof him. Well, I waited and waited and no sign of th' orficer. Therocket goes up and our lads begin to come back with half a dozenHuns runnin' in front of them with their hands up. Some of thechaps as they passed me wanted to know if I was a-goin' to staythere all night! And the Brigade buzzin' like mad to talk to theCaptain. 

"I sat in that blessed trench till everybody had cleared out. Then, seeing as how not even the docket had brought th' orficerback, I sez to myself as how he must ha' stopped one. So I getsout of the trench and starts crawling across the top towards theplace where I see the Captain disappear. As I got near thesupport line the ground went up a little and then dropped, so Igot a bit of a view on to the ground ahead. And then I sees theCaptain here!"

Buzzer Barling stopped. All had listened to his story with thedeepest interest, especially Strangwise, who never took his eyesoff the gunner's brown face. Some men are born story-tellers andthere was a rugged picturesqueness about Barling's simplenarrative which conjured up in the minds of his hearers thepicture of the lonely signaller cowering in the abandoned trenchamong the freshly slain, waiting for the officer who never cameback. 

"It's not a nice thing to have to say about an orficer, " thegunner presently continued, "and so help me God, gentlemen, Ikep' my mouth shut about it until... Until... "

He broke off and looked quickly at Desmond. 

"Keep that until the end, Barling, " said Desmond, "finish aboutthe raid now!"

"Well, as I was sayin', gentlemen, I was up on a bit of hillocknear Fritz's support line when I sees the Captain here. He wassettin' all comfortable in a shell-hole, his glasses in his hand, chattin' quite friendly like with two of the Gers. Orficers, Ireckoned they was, along o' the silver lace on their collars. Onewas wearin' one o' them coal-scuttle helmets, t'other a littleflat 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-scuttlehat was a-writin' it all down in a book. "

Barling paused. He was rather flushed and his eyes burnedbrightly in his weather-beaten face. 

"Eighteen year I done in the Royal Regiment, " he went on, and hisvoice trembled a little, "and me father a battery sergeant-majorbefore me, and I never thought to see one of our orficers go overto the enemy. Fritz was beginnin' to come back to his front line:I could see their coal-scuttle hats a-bobbin' up and down thecommunication trenches, so I crawled back the way I come and madea bolt for our lines. 

"I meant to go straight to the B. C. Post and report wot I seen tothe Major. But I hadn't the heart to, gentlemen, when I was upagainst it. It was an awful charge to bring against an orficer, d'you see? I told myself I didn't know but what the Captainhadn't been taken prisoner and was makin' the best of it, w'en Isee him, stuffin' the Fritzes up with a lot o' lies. And so Ijes' reported as how th' orficer 'ad crawled out of the trenchand 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 paperin the front garden of the Mackwayte's house at Laleham Villas, Seven Kings, the day after the murder. There are one or twoquestions I should like to put... "

"No need to arsk any questions, " said Barling. "I'll tell you thewhole story meself, mister. I was on leave at the time, due to goback to France the next afternoon. I'd been out spending theevenin' at my niece's wot's married and livin' out Seven Kingsway. Me and her man wot works on the line kept it up a bit latewhat with yarnin' about the front an' that and it must a' beennigh on three o'clock w'en I left him to walk back to the UnionJack Club where I had a bed. 

"There's a corfee-stall near their road and the night bein' crooldamp I thought as how a nice cup o' corfee'd warm me up afore Iwent back to the Waterloo Bridge Road. I had me cup o' corfee andwas jes' a-payin' the chap what has the pitch w'en a fellowpasses by right in the light o' the lamp on the stall. It was th'orficer here, in plain clothes--shabby-like he was dressed--but Iknew him at once. 

"'Our orficers don't walk about these parts after midnightdressed like tramps, ' I sez to meself, and rememberin' what Iseen at the Hohenlinden Trench I follows him... "

"Just a minute!"

The Chief's voice broke in upon the narrative. 

"Didn't you know, Barling, hadn't you heard, about CaptainStrangwise's escape from a German prisoners of war camp?"

"No, sir!" replied the gunner. 

"There was a good deal about it in the papers. "

"I've not got much eddication, sir, " said Barling, "that's w'y Inever took the stripe and I don't take much account of thenewspapers an' that's a fact!"

"Well, go on!" the Chief bade him. 

"It was pretty dark in the streets and I follered him alongwithout his seeing me into the main-road and then down aturnin'... "

"Laleham Villas, " prompted Mr. Marigold. 

"I wasn't payin' much attention to were he was leadin' me, " saidBarling, "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 tobe, and he swung in so sudden that I had to drop quick and crouchbehind the masonry of the front garden wall. My leave pass musta' dropped out o' my pocket and through the railin's into thegarden. 

"Well, the front door must a' been on the jar for th' orficerhere just pushes it open and walks in, goin' very soft like. Icrep' in the front gate and got as far as the door w'ich wasa-standin' half open. I could 'ear the stair creakin' under 'imand I was just wonderin' whether I should go into the house w'enI hears a bang and wi' that someone comes aflyin' down thestairs, dodges through the front hall and out at the back. I seehim come scramblin' over the back gate and was a-goin' to stophim thinkin' it was th' orficer here w'en I sees it is a tubbylittle chap, not big like the Captain. And then it come over mequite sudden-like that burglary and murder had been done in thehouse and wot would I say if a p'liceman come along? So I slippedoff and went as hard as I could go back to the old Union JackClub. 

"The next mornin' I found I'd lost me leave paper. I was afraidto go and report it in case it had been picked up, and they'd runme in for this murder job. That's how I come to desert, gentlemen, and spoilt a eighteen years' conduct sheet without aentry over this murderin' spy here!"

Gunner Barling broke off abruptly as though he had committedhimself to a stronger opinion than discipline would allow. It wasthe Chief who broke the silence following the termination of thegunner'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 hewas sent over here by the German secret service organization inthe United States to get a commission in the British Army. When agood man was wanted to recover the Star of Poland for the CrownPrince, the secret service people in Berlin sent word toStrangwise (who was then serving with the gunners in France) toget himself captured. The German military authorities dulyreported him a prisoner of war and then let him 'escape' as' theeasiest and least suspicious means of getting him back toLondon!"

The Chief smiled genially. 

"That's a dashed clever idea, " he observed shrewdly, "'pon myword, that's bright! That's very bright! I should like tocompliment the man who thought of that!"

"Then you may address your compliments to me, Chief, " saidStrangwise. 

The Chief turned and looked at him. 

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

Strangwise laughed. 

"Ask Nur-el-Din, " he said, "that is to say, if you haven't shother yet!"

"And if we have?" asked the Chief. 

Desmond sprang tip. 

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

"What if we have?" asked the Chief again. 

A curious change had come over the prisoner. His jaunty air hadleft him and there was an apprehensive look in his eyes. 

"I would have saved her if I could have, " Strangwise said, "butshe played me false over the jewel. She imperiled the success ofmy mission. You English have no idea of discipline. To usPrussian officers an order stands above everything else. There isnothing we would not sacrifice to obey our orders. And my orderwas to recover the Star of Poland for His Imperial Highness theCrown Prince, Lieutenant Colonel in the Regiment to which I havethe honor to belong, the First Regiment of Prussian Foot Guards. But Nur-el-Din plotted with our friend here and with that littlefool upstairs to upset my plans, and I had no mercy on her. Iplanted those documents in her dress--or rather Bellward did--todraw suspicion away from me. I thought you English would be tooflabby to execute a woman; but I reckoned on you putting the girlaway for some years to come. I would have shot her as I shot Rassif... " His voice trembled and he was silent. 

"If what?" asked the Chief. 

"If she hadn't been my wife, " said Strangwise. 

CHAPTER XXXI. THE 100, 000 KIT

It was a clear, crisp morning with a sparkle of frost on jettyand breakwater. The English Channel stretched flashing like aliving sheet of glass to the filmy line marking the coast ofFrance, as serene and beautiful in its calm as it is savage andcruel in its anger. It was high tide; but only a gentle murmurcame from the little waves that idly beat upon the shore in frontof the bungalow. 

A girl lay in a deck chair on the verandah, well wrapped upagainst the eager air. But the fresh breeze would not be deniedand, foiled by the nurse's vigilance of its intents against thepatient, it revenged itself by blowing havoc among the soft browncurls which peeped out from under the girl's hat. 

She turned to the man at her side. 

"Look!" she said, and pointed seawards with her finger. 

A convoy of vessels was standing out to sea framed in thesmoke-blurs of the escorting destroyers. Ugly, weatherbeatencraft were the steamers with trails of smoke blown out in thebreeze behind them. They rode the sea's highway with confidence, putting their trust in the unseen power that swept the road clearfor them. 

"Transports, aren't they?" asked the man. 

But he scarcely looked at the transports. He was watching thegleam of the sun on the girl's brown hair and contrasting thedeep gray of her eyes with the ever-changing hues of the sea. 

"Yes, " replied the girl. "It's the third day they've gone across!By this time next week there'll be ten fresh divisions in France. How secure they look steaming along! And to think they owe it allto you!"

The man laughed and flushed up. 

"From the strictly professional standpoint the less said about methe better, " he said. 

"What nonsense you talk!" cried the girl. "When the Chief wasdown to see me yesterday, he spoke of nothing but you. 'They beathim, but he won out!' he said, 'they shook him off but he wentback and found 'em!' He told me it was a case of grit versusviolence--and grit won. In all the time I've known the Chief, I've never heard him talk so much about one man before. Do youknow, " Barbara went on, looking up at Desmond, "I think you'vemade the Chief feel a little bit ashamed of himself. And that Imay tell you is a most extraordinary achievement!"

"Do you think you're strong enough to hear some news?" askedDesmond after a pause. 

"Of course, " replied the girl. "But I think I can guess it. It'sabout Strangwise, isn't it?"

Desmond nodded. 

"He was shot yesterday morning, " he replied. "I'm glad they didit in France. I was terrified lest they should want me to go toit. "

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

"No, " replied Desmond slowly, "he was a bad fellow--a Prussianthrough and through. He murdered your poor father, he shot Rass, he instigated the killing of the maid, Marie, he was prepared tosacrifice his own wife even, to this Prussian God of militarismwhich takes the very soul out of a man's body and puts it intothe hands of his superior officer. And yet, and yet, when one hassoldiered with a man, Barbara, and roughed it with him and beenshelled and shot at with him, there seems to be a bond ofsympathy between you and him for ever after. And he was a braveman, Barbara, cruel and unscrupulous, I admit, but there was nofear in him, and I can't help admiring courage. I seem to thinkof him as two men--the man I soldiered with and the heartlessbrute who watched while that beast Bellward... "

He broke off as a spasm of pain crossed the girl's face. "I shallremember 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 takehim off, " Desmond said, "he asked to be allowed to say a wordprivately to the Chief. We were all sent away and he told theChief his real name. He thought he was going to be hanged, yousee, and while he never shrank from any crime in the fulfilmentof his mission, he was terrified of a shameful death. He beggedthe Chief to see that his real name was not revealed for thedisgrace that his execution would bring upon his family. Curiously Prussian attitude of mind, isn't it?"

"And what did the Chief say?"

"I don't know; but he was mighty short with him, I expect. "

"And what was Strangwise's real name?"

"When he told us that Nur-el-Din was his wife, I knew at once whohe was. His name is Hans von Schornbeek. He was in the PrussianFoot Guards, was turned out for some reason or other and went toAmerica where, after a pretty rough time, he was taken on by theGerman secret service organization. He was working for them whenhe met Nur-el-Din. They were married out there and, realizing thepossibilities of using her as a decoy in the secret service, hesent her to Brussels where the Huns were very busy getting readyfor war. He treated her abominably; but the girl was fond of himin her way and even when she was in fear of her life from thisman she never revealed to me the fact that he was Hans vonSchornbeek and her husband. "

Barbara sat musing for a while, her eyes on the restless sea. 

"How strange it is, " she said, "to think that they are alldispersed now... And the transports are sailing securely toFrance. Two were killed at the Mill House, Behrend committedsuicide in prison, Bellward died in hospital, Mrs. Malplaquet hasdisappeared, and now Strangwise has gone. There only remains... "

She cast a quick glance at Desmond but he was gazing seaward atthe smoke of the transports smudging the horizon. 

"What are they going to do with Nur-el-Din?" she asked ratherabruptly. 

"Didn't the Chief tell you?" said Desmond. 

"He only asked me what I had to say in the matter as I had had tosuffer at her hands. But I told him I left the matter entirely tohim. I said I took your point of view that Nur-el-Din was thevictim of her husband... "

"That was generous of you, Barbara, " Desmond said gently. 

She sighed. 

"Daddy knew her as a little girl, " she answered, "and he was sopleased to see her again that night. She never had a chance. Ihope she'll get one now!"

"They're going to intern her, I believe, " said Desmond, "untilthe end of the war; they could do nothing else, you know. But shewill be well looked after, and I think she will be safer in ourcharge than if she were allowed to remain at liberty. The GermanSecret Service has had a bad knock, you know. Somebody has got topay for it!"

"I know, " the girl whispered, "and it frightens me. "

"You poor child!" said Desmond, "you've had a rough time. Butit's all over now. And that reminds me, Barney is coming up forsentence to-day; they charged him with murder originally; butMarigold kept on getting him remanded until they were able toalter the charge to one of burglary. He'll probably get twoyears' hard labor, Marigold says. "

"Poor Barney!" said Barbara, "I wish they would let him go free. All these weeks the mystery of poor Daddy's death has so weighedupon my mind that now it has been cleared up I feel as though oneday I might be happy again. And I want everybody to be happy, too!"

"Barbara, " said Desmond and took her hand. 

Barbara calmly withdrew it from his grasp and brushed animaginary curl out of her eye. 

"Any news of your hundred thousand pound kit?" she asked, by wayof turning the conversation. 

"By Jove, " said Desmond, "there was a letter from Cox's at theclub this morning but I was so rushed to catch my train that Ishoved it in my pocket and forgot all about it. I wrote and askedthem weeks ago to get my kit back from France. Here we are!"

He pulled a letter out of his pocket, slit open the envelope andtook out a printed form. Barbara, propping herself up with onehand on his shoulder, leaned over him to read the communication. This is what she read. 

"We are advised, " the form ran, "that a Wolseley valise forwardedto you on the 16th inst. From France has been lost by enemyaction. We are enclosing a compensation form which... "

But neither troubled to read further. 

"Gone to the bottom, by Jove!" cried Desmond. "But isn't itstrange, " he went on, "to think of the Star of Poland lying outthere on the bed of the Channel? Well, I'm not so sure that itisn't the best place for it. It won't create any further troublein this world at least!"

"Poor Nur-el-Din!" sighed the girl. 

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

"You're leaving here to-morrow then?" said Desmond presently. 

Barbara nodded

"And going back to your work with the Chief?"

Barbara nodded again. 

"It's not good enough, " cried Desmond. "This is no job for a girllike you, Barbara. The strain is too much; the risks are toogreat. 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 overhers. For a brief moment she let him have his way. 

Then she withdrew her hand. 

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

"We have, " replied the man somberly, "and mine's at the front!"

The girl shook her head. 

"No!" she said. "Henceforward it's where the Chief sends you!"

Desmond set his jaw obstinately. 

"I may have been a Secret Service agent by accident, " heanswered, "but I'm a soldier by trade. My place is in thefighting-line!"

"The Secret Service has its fighting-line, too, " Barbara replied, "though the war correspondents don't write about it. It nevergets a mention in despatches, and Victoria Crosses don't come itsway. The newspapers don't publish its casualty list, though youand I know that it's a long one. A man slips quietly away andnever comes back, and after a certain lapse of time we just markhim off the books and there's an end of it. But it's a greatservice; and you've made your mark in it. The Chief wants menlike you. You'll have to stay!"

Desmond was about to speak; but the girl stopped him. "What doyou and I matter, " she asked, "when the whole future of Englandis at stake! If you are to give of your best to this silent gameof ours, you must be free with no responsibilities and no ties, with nothing that will ever make you hesitate to take a supremerisk. And I never met a man that dared more freely than you!"

"Oh, please... " said Desmond and got up. 

He stood gazing seawards for a while. 

Then he glanced at his watch. 

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

The girl nodded. 

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

Desmond looked at her ruefully. 

"You're so eloquent about it, " he said slowly, "that I think Imust!"

Smiling, she gave him her hand. Desmond held it for an instant inhis. 

Then, without another word, he turned and strode off towards thewinding white road that led to the station. 

Barbara watched him until a turn in the road hid him from hersight. Then she pulled out her handkerchief. 

"Good Heavens, girl!" she said to herself, "I believe you'recrying!"