CHAPTER XXVIOne afternoon, when Colonel Hobin's permission had been obtained, Parkson invited Mrs. Beecher Monmouth to tea at Heatherpoint Fort. It was only occasionally that ladies were allowed to enter the fort gates. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, however, was a well-known woman, and her recent sorrow won for her every one's commiseration. In sending her the permit to enter the fort—a slip of yellow paper, rubber stamped, and with Colonel Hobin's signature scrawled at the foot—Parkson apologised for the roughness of the fare he would be able to offer her.Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had been deftly angling for an invitation to the fort from the moment of her arrival.Upon the next afternoon she attired herself with special care, and, when ready, made the eleven miles journey to Heatherpoint in a hired car.She smiled graciously at the first sentry to halt her vehicle at the foot of the wide road leading to the fort gate. At the tall iron gates themselves, which clanked noisily open when her pass had been inspected by the guard, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was conscious of a slight tremor. The sensation of being behind closed gates—for the gates clanked immediately shut upon her entrance—filled her with a sudden throb of fear. The abrupt movements, the expressionless faces of the guard also disturbed her. She had ventured a great deal in her work on behalf of the German secret service, but this was the first occasion where she had, as it were, stepped deliberately into the jaws of the lion. Her quick eyes took in all her surroundings; the cliff rose abruptly to her left; the muzzle of a six-inch gun peering out over the Solent was visible twenty yards away upon her right. A sergeant, still holding her pass in his hand, looked at her inquiringly."You wish to see Lieutenant Parkson?""Yes, please." Her heart was still beating swiftly. She had not foreseen that the gates would be clanged ruthlessly shut behind her.The sergeant turned on his heel."Will you come this way, madame?"He began to ascend steep ladder-like steps laid against the face of the cliff. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth followed the grim khaki-clad figure."Please, not quite so fast," she entreated, and paused for breath.Three hundred feet below her, looking almost straight down, she could see the blue waters of the Solent shining in the sunlight. Tiny white-crested waves fell languidly into the little bay, with its jutting pier that before the war had been thronged with holiday-makers, but which was now empty and deserted. Beyond the pier, three miles away, on the mainland promontory the tower of the Ponsonby Lighthouse gleamed beautiful and white."What a lovely view, sergeant.""Yes, madame.""But in winter it must be very cold up here.""Yes, madame."He was standing eight or ten steps above her, eyeing a tangle of barbed wire which covered a green hill slope, with indifferent eyes. He did not approve of visitors to the fort, especially ladies. What did ladies want climbing ladders and nosing about in places where they were not wanted; they were never allowed to see anything important. And as for the so-called view, they could get a better one at the Shakespeare Monument a little farther along the downs. This was Sergeant Ewins's opinion as he conducted Lieutenant Parkson's visitor up the steep steps to the little well-hidden mess-room at the cliff top, and even Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's unparalleled beauty and charm failed to win a smile from him. Parkson, who had been on duty until that minute, came running towards them as they entered the small asphalted courtyard. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, her eyes shining, her breath coming quickly with the exertion of the ascent, clasped his hand in hers.Parkson dismissed Ewins and apologised briskly for not being able to receive her at the fort gates."I was on duty till this minute. Our colonel's a bit of a martinet.""Is he not popular?" asked Mrs. Beecher Monmouth in the low intimate—we two are alone in all the world—voice she knew so well how to use.Parkson opened his eyes wide."Good Lord, yes; he's most awfully popular. He is just, you see, and the men always appreciate that."He led his visitor into the single story building, and along a passage toward the little mess-room. Here Mrs. Beecher Monmouth seated herself in the only armchair—a cheap wicker article—and surveyed the room with smiling, but intensely receptive eyes. In a flash she took in the bare boarded floor, the trestle table, the colonel's cigar box on the mantelshelf, the Admiralty chart of the Solent which covered the end wall and lastly, the old piano, which was the worst treated instrument in the Isle of Wight.Parkson bustled about at the tea-table, and Mrs. Beecher Monmouth presently turned her attention upon him."Will anyone come in and disturb us if I help you to make the table a little more presentable?" she asked."I'm afraid they will," Parkson answered. "But I managed to choose a time when only one officer is likely to come in.""Is he old and grumpy, or young and nice-looking like you?" Mrs. Beecher Monmouth looked at him with raillery in her fine eyes. She was helping herself to marmalade, and was making the best of the thickness of the bread and butter, and the strong tea Parkson had poured out for her."Oh, he's a dashed sight better looking than I am," admitted Parkson modestly; "his name is Sinclair, an old regular officer.""I am sure I shall not like him," said Mrs. Beecher Monmouth.It was fully a quarter of an hour before Sinclair made his appearance, and then the tea was nearly cold. He came in, and was introduced to Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. Looking at his lean, handsome face and audacious eyes she could have sworn that she had seen him somewhere before. As a matter of fact, his appearance was vaguely familiar to her because one of Sinclair's earlier duties that year had been to watch her at little dinner parties at the Savoy, Carlton and Ritz Hotels."I think we have met before," probed Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, furrowing her brows, and fixing her gaze on Sinclair's face."I am afraid I have not had that pleasure," replied Sinclair, who could act the part of smiling fatuity to perfection. He was thinking how well she looked in her widow's weeds, and how extraordinary cheerful was her manner, considering the tragedy that had recently befallen her.Parkson and Mrs. Beecher Monmouth soon left the mess-room, and immediately they were gone Sinclair rose from the table, hurried to his room, and wrote a code telegram to Dacent Smith.Mrs. Beecher Monmouth is here. What action shall I take?Two hours later his Chief's answer came.Take no action. Treves handling the matter.While Sinclair was writing his telegram Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had accompanied Parkson out into the asphalted yard. Only certain limited areas of the fort were open to friends of the officers. "I am afraid it is very feminine of me," exclaimed Mrs. Monmouth as they passed the bakehouse door, "but I should so love to peep inside.""By all means," responded Parkson, showing himself indulgent to feminine curiosity.She tripped across the yard, and peered into the half darkness of the bakehouse. She was carrying out her instructions, which were to find out what had become of Sims, but even the astuteness of Dacent Smith himself at this moment would have failed to detect guile in the girlish innocence of her expression as she looked into the face of the red-haired Scotch baker who had succeeded Sims. She examined the great tray of newly-baked loaves, uttered feminine exclamations of astonishment and admiration at all she saw, and finally smiled sweetly into the face of the dour Scotch corporal."I suppose you have been here ages and ages, Mr. Lyle?""No, madam, it's no more than a month since I came."Parkson, who had listened good-humouredly, awaited her at the door, and as they crossed the asphalt together Mrs. Monmouth questioned him as to the baker who had preceded Lyle. She put her questions deftly, in a manner that would arouse no suspicion."Oh, no, Sims isn't at the front." He looked at her for a moment with fleeting doubt in his gaze, and decided to say no more about Sims. But Mrs. Monmouth's keen eyes interpreted his expression of reserve. He knew something. She smiled inwardly. What he knew she, too, would know."I am afraid we must stop here," Parkson suddenly said, "I am not allowed to take anyone beyond this barbed wire.""Do you never allow visitors to go there?""Never," answered Parkson emphatically.Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned her resplendent countenance upon him. There was a vivid colour in her cheeks; the rich curve of her lips glowed scarlet."How wonderful it all is—and, I suppose," she went on, looking at him with what he and any other man would have believed to be admiration, "you are watching and waiting, all day and all night—waiting for the enemy?""Something of the sort," answered Parkson wearily. "You never know; he may come any time.""Do you expect him?"They were at the top of the steps which led to the lower fort, the superb panorama of Alum Bay, the Ponsonby Lighthouse and the English coast lay at their feet."I can't say that we expect him any longer," answered Parkson, naturally, "but we live in hope!""I suppose the fort is very strong?""I expect it's capable of doing its bit," Parkson answered judicially."I suppose you have made it much stronger in the last few months—since the Germans began to do badly on the Western front?"Parkson looked at her quickly, and she broke into a little musical laugh."How silly I am!" she exclaimed. "I am talking just like a man. That comes of living with a Member of Parliament."This was the only reference she had made to her husband, but she made it in a tone which was intended to convey to Parkson that Mr. Beecher Monmouth was completely and irrevocably dead, and that being a young and vital woman, she, on her part, could not be expected to mourn his loss eternally.They descended the steps together, and, in pretty timidity, she laid her fingers upon his arm. In Parkson's short career of gallantry he had never felt so much a man of the world as at that moment.When the steep descent had been made, and they were upon the level of the lower fort, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth expressed much interest in the view that was to be obtained from that level. But Parkson shook his head, and explained that no visitors whatever were admitted to the lower fort.Failing in that project, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned her eyes upon the tall barred gate which cut her off from the world outside. Parkson explained to her with a masterful smile, that, until he gave the word, she was a prisoner in the fort."You can test it, if you like," he said; "all you have to do is to walk to the gate and try to get out."It was nearly six o'clock, and Parkson was due upon duty at seven."Look here," he said, "I have just time to show you out of the fort the other way, across the links. I'm afraid you'll have to go up the steps again."Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, however, showed herself quite willing to make an ascent to the upper level. She was interested and delighted in everything she saw.At the top of the cliff, with the short green turf underfoot, old Lieutenant-Commander Greaves met them, and saluted, and went to his eyrie, his glass-covered look-out with its great swivel telescope."What a delightful old naval officer!""He is," returned Parkson, "and as keen as mustard."His companion put a few deft questions; it was as though she put out invisible tentacles, groping for matter that could be valuable.Before they reached the confines of the fort Parkson led her to the cliff edge, to the exact spot wherefrom Manton had looked down upon Sims busy upon the sands. Far below them lay the quiet little bay—there was scarcely a ripple upon the blue sunlit water, and the waves rolled and fell languidly with a musical cadence.Mrs. Beecher Monmouth seated herself beside Parkson and admired the view. She was clever enough not to force the pace; he was already entangled in her meshes, but he was not yet completely helpless. Aforetime she had conquered and wrought the undoing of men far subtler than Parkson."What a lovely, lovely bay, Mr. Parkson!"Parkson admitted the beauty of the bay. He told her that it was within the area of the fort, and that it was not accessible to the public, and that there was only one way of approaching it by a narrow path descending the chalk cliff. Then quite insidiously and with incredible dexterity she led him round to talk of Sims. Months later, when Parkson recalled that conversation, he was totally unable to account for the manner in which she had achieved a return to this subject. Sims, the lank, cadaverous and bead-eyed Sims—who was really Steinbaum and a German spy—what had this man to do with the beauty and splendour of the sunlit evening? Why should his existence interest the tragically bereaved young widow, the society woman, who Parkson truly believed had fallen in love with himself? "Heart taken at the rebound," the young man quoted in fatuous gratification. He felt delighted to think that old Greaves had seen him in company of this lovely widow. He wanted the ancient naval officer to think him a dog, and when he and Mrs. Beecher Monmouth rose and passed between attentive sentries out of the fort into the downs, Parkson helped the lovely widow up certain steps, out through certain areas of barbed wire, by taking her arm in his. He wondered if old Greaves, in his glass look-out, was watching them—old Greaves saw pretty much everything that went on in the upper fort. But on this occasion it was not Greaves, but Captain Sinclair who watched him—watched every movement they made from Greaves' glass-encompassed tower."What do you think of that friend of Parkson's, Commander?" asked Sinclair, as Parkson and his guest passed finally out of the fort."She's the best-looking woman I've seen here since the war began," responded Greaves. "When I was a young man," he went on wickedly, drawing at his pipe, "I always went in for widows. There is always so much more to 'em.""In this case," Sinclair answered, "the widow seems to be bearing her sorrow pretty lightly!""Old husbands are soon forgotten by young wives," observed Greaves philosophically. "When I was in Minorca, in the old Benbow, in '72 or '73," he began, and told Sinclair with never-ending gusto one of his somewhat highly-spiced stories of youthful adventures of his midship days.In the meantime Parkson conducted Mrs. Beecher Monmouth down to her waiting motor-car. They descended the steep hillside, and Parkson still helped her on every occasion. The hired Ford car had been turned in the narrow road. Parkson, with a glance at his watch, helped her into the vehicle, daringly stepped in beside her, and placed the dust-cover over both their knees."I can have a five minutes' drive with you and get back by seven," he announced."But I didn't invite you, Mr. Parkson.""Your eyes invited me," he returned audaciously, and under the dust-cover he slid his fingers towards hers.There ensued a palpitating moment, then Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned her radiantly beautiful face slightly towards him; under long, curved lashes she gave him a sidelong glance. Then, so that the chauffeur should not overhear, she whispered, framing the words with her lips:"You bad, bad, naughty officer!"But she did not remove her hand, which was now enclosed in his.Parkson thought it a lucky chance that she had discarded her gloves. Parkson, in fact, was green enough to trust her absolutely. He was, indeed, the veriest babe in her hands. Her face was full towards him now. She was smiling, exhibiting her splendid teeth, and looking deep into his eyes. Her black hat and widow's weeds added only to the brilliancy of her complexion, to the scarlet richness of her fine lips. There was something in her gaze, in the warm intensity of her regard, its lingering softness, that utterly swept away Parkson's self-possession. He leaned toward her and dropped his voice."If it wasn't for the sentries there on the hill-top," he murmured, "I'd kiss you now!""Bad boy," she said with her lips.She had a way of talking with her lips and uttering no sound that concentrated attention on her sensuous charms.Parkson's five minutes in the car seemed to him five minutes of heaven. He was completely and utterly enamoured—and as to the future, the future seemed to blaze before him in radiant and glorious romance. He wondered how far he could go—he had never seen a woman like her. Beautiful, feminine, coy, loving.... What a blind idiot, thought he, Beecher Monmouth must have been to shoot himself."When shall we meet again?" he whispered, as he alighted from the car at the end of the fort road."I'm afraid I shall have to meet you again soon, you naughty boy!"She put out her supple white hand, adorned only with a wedding ring. Parkson seized her fingers and impressed a fervent kiss upon them.As the car swept away, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned and waved a little handkerchief in farewell.CHAPTER XXVIIWhen Mrs. Monmouth reached the hotel in Newport, something over an hour after bidding Parkson farewell, Cecily awaited her in the little sitting-room."Are you ready, madame, to dress for dinner?" asked the maid."Yes, Cecily, and I shall dine here to-night."She went into the bedroom, and Cecily disrobed her. During this ceremony the girl hesitated once or twice on the point of speaking, then refrained."Well, what is it, Cecily? What is it you want to say?""It is something important, madame, that has occurred."Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned and opened her eyes in interrogation."What, for instance?" she demanded.Cecily, who was at the wardrobe, took out her mistress's evening skirt."To-day, madame, when you were away, I made acquaintance of one of the men at Heatherpoint Fort——""Ah!" ejaculated Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, suddenly interested; "so soon—that was clever of you.""He told me, in regard to Sims, madame, he merely left the fort——"Mrs. Beecher Monmouth nodded indifferently; she was disappointed."Is that all you learned, Cecily?""No, madame. I learned also that Lieutenant Treves, who was supposed by us to be staying with his father, was, however, at that time acting as one of the officers at Heatherpoint."This was the first Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had heard of John's presence at the fort. She was at first inclined to disbelieve it. Then, when Cecily proved circumstantially that the statement was true, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth felt inclined to dismiss the matter as of no moment. If Treves had been at Heatherpoint, he was there evidently with the knowledge of von Kuhne, and possibly was acting in von Kuhne's interests, and, for her part, she was not in the least inclined to doubt John—he was one of her admirers. A more resourceful and more attractive man than Parkson, and, nevertheless, equally a victim of her charms. She flattered herself she could do a great deal with Bernard Treves. As for his attempting to deceive her, that seemed out of the question. She pointed out to Cecily that Treves's stay at Heatherpoint Fort did not mean that the young man had betrayed the German secret service, which was rewarding him so handsomely.Cecily, however, had a further and more serious statement to make."When I am suspicious, madame," she said, "I am thinking not so much of Mr. Treves's visit to the fort——"She was at Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's back now, hooking her dress, and a silence fell."Well?" demanded her mistress shortly."I am thinking, madame," went on Cecily, "of the night of Mr. Beecher Monmouth's death."She paused again, but her mistress made no remark, and Cecily went on:"On that night, madame, when I had folded away your things, I took a skirt into the housekeeper's room to brush. While I brushed it I talked with Mr. Duckett, the butler, who was also there. There was no ring at the front-door bell, madame—and yet when I returned to your bedroom there was a light there.""You left it on before you went down, Cecily!""No, madame, I turned it off. I was very surprised to see the light, as I knew you were out, madame, and I—I——"Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned and scrutinised the maid's sallow face and bead-like eyes."You looked through the keyhole!" she said."Yes, madame.""And saw my husband, who had come back unexpectedly.""No, madame; I saw Mr. Treves. Mr. Beecher Monmouth had not come home then; and Mr. Treves, madame, was standing near your dressing-table with a small box in his hands."Mrs. Beecher Monmouth flashed an intense glance upon her."What sort of box?""A black box, madame, the one you kept among your furs."Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's hand suddenly leapt out and gripped Cecily's wrist. Her voice grew low, little more than a hissing whisper."What are you saying, Cecily? What was Mr. Treves doing?""I don't know, madame."Cecily twisted her arm, attempting to free it."Please, madame, you are hurting my wrist!"Mrs. Beecher Monmouth thrust forth her face—her brilliant eyes had grown hard as agate."Why did you never tell me this before?""I thought, madame, you knew he was there."Mrs. Beecher Monmouth relaxed her grip; she stepped back a pace or two and threw up her head."God in heaven, what a fool you are!""It was natural I should think that," protested Cecily, recoiling a step or two."Natural! You idiot!""He came in with your key, madame."Mrs. Beecher Monmouth stared in utter amazement."My key?""Yes, madame; I saw him fling something under the table, and found afterwards it was your key. He must have taken it from your bag, madame, when he visited you in the afternoon."Mrs. Beecher Monmouth suddenly twisted on her heel and began to pace the room. The truth had smitten her like a blow. Wild thoughts surged through her brain. All these long months she had believed herself tricking and duping Bernard Treves—her business in life was to trick, dupe, and mould men to her own ends, to the ends of the Fatherland, to the imposition of its monstrous Kultur upon the world—and now this man, this handsome, drug-sodden weakling had out-manoeuvred her! She had spun a web for him, had toyed with him, expended her charm upon him, and all the time he had been secretly and darkly laughing in his sleeve. Instead of a friend and a tool, he had been an astute and daring enemy!Enemy—that was the word. An enemy of infinite danger to herself, to von Kuhne, to Cherriton, to Manwitz—to them all. An enemy to the Fatherland! An enemy to the great, crushing blow that was about to fall upon those arrogant and high-stomached English!Her concealed letters, that meant everything, that exposed everything, had been found—not by her husband—but by this cool and steel-nerved, subtle-witted enemy—this young man who now, from that evidence, could piece together all her life-history.As this thought flashed into her mind, she saw her own immediate jeopardy. She lacked nothing of courage; and, being a woman, it was not her own physical peril, nor the wrecking of von Kuhne's plan, that struck her deep—it was not this, but her own vanity that was stricken. She had made many advances to Bernard Treves—she had given much. And, as she thought of the past, a murderous and implacable hate blossomed in her mind against John. An instinct to seize something and rend it to shreds grappled her. She longed to slap Cecily—first on one side of her sallow face and then on the other. She would have liked to take Cecily's arm and twist it until the woman yelled with pain.But as these things were not permissible, she sat down and wrote a fiery and vitriolic letter to General von Kuhne. She cared nothing now for von Kuhne's authority; they were all in danger. This pleasant, amiable young Englishman had obviously acted against them from the very first. They believed him to be a drug-taker and a discredited English officer with a grievance. And all the time he had been something utterly different.She wrote this news to von Kuhne, and poured her contempt upon him. She knew these things would hit the chief of the German service between the eyes, and she revelled in the thought. And all the time her intense and passionate nature dwelt upon the thing that must befall Bernard Treves. How much information Treves had conveyed to his department she did not know; but this she knew, that von Kuhne and his myrmidons would effectually stop his mouth. The dark corps of espionage would add another death, another extinction to its secret crimes.When Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had finished the letter, she closed it, addressed it to Godfrey Manners, Esq., and handed it to Cecily."You will take this to Mr. Manners now, and ask him to deliver it to Doctor Voules first thing to-morrow. The doctor is in London to-day, but he will return in the morning. Tell Mr. Manners that the letter is of the utmost importance.""Very good, madame."Mrs. Beecher Monmouth detained her a few minutes, questioning her as to Treves's visit on the night of Beecher Monmouth's death; then permitted her to go.When the maid had departed, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth stood before the little mirror on the hotel dressing-table. "Tricked, duped and fooled!" she murmured.Then, catching sight of the pearl and emerald pendant John had given her, she snatched it violently from her breast and hurled it into the hearth. It would have given her infinite pleasure at that moment to have murdered John by slow and excruciating torture. Her thoughts were still seething, when the dejected hotel waiter knocked at her door and announced in plaintive tones that dinner awaited her.CHAPTER XXVIIINext morning, at twelve o'clock, Doctor Voules sat at the big oak table in his dining-room at Brooke. He had arrived from London in the morning, and was busy consuming a heavy lunch.The brightness of the day before had vanished; a heavy driving rain was falling. From the single window of the apartment the doctor could obtain a view of drenched foliage in his garden. And, sharp to the left, as one stood at the window, a view of the sea, grey and restless beneath a leaden sky, was visible.The doctor ate stolidly, grinding his food in heavy, powerful jaws. The only other occupant of the room was Captain Cherriton, who lounged in a chair at the hearth and read a morning newspaper assiduously. Beside him, on the floor, lay four or five other morning news-sheets.For many minutes, save the drive of the rain and the chink of Voules's knife and fork, no sound broke the stillness of the room. Then Voules turned his chair, took out a cigar and lit it."The barometer is falling, Rathenau," he said in his grating, imperious voice—quite another voice from that which he assumed as the bland Doctor Voules."It is going down steadily, Excellenz," answered Cherriton."Good," returned the elder man. "We must have unsettled weather for the twenty-eighth—eh, Rathenau?""It is much to be desired, Excellenz."The twenty-eighth—it was always the twenty-eighth with General von Kuhne. With machine-like precision his forceful mind returned again and again to that date—the date which was to mark the consummation of his work. The blow, the subtle, heavy blow at England's heart—the blow planned, schemed for, and ordered; the great destruction that had originated in his martial and ruthless mind."Things go well, eh?""Quite well, Excellenz," Cherriton answered promptly, for as yet he had not found courage to mention to the general his suspicion of Treves. He was not yet positive that Treves had betrayed them, and, in the meantime, he had resolved to say nothing. Rather would he wait and watch, seeking for tangible proof of duplicity on Treves's part.These thoughts were passing through his mind when a knock came at the door, and Conrad entered to clear away the luncheon things. In his hand he carried a salver upon which lay a single letter, addressed to Doctor Voules, and without a stamp.The doctor took up the letter."Herr Manwitz brought it from Newport, Excellenz," said the servant in German."Tell Herr Manwitz I will see him presently, and remain out of the room until I ring for you."General von Kuhne had recognised Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's handwriting. He began to read almost casually; then, suddenly, his interest intensified, and as he read the lines of his heavy face grew hard, firm and implacable. His colour rose; he eased his collar about his throat and bit heavily upon his long cigar.Cherriton, noticing his agitation, noticing the blazing wrath that illuminated his face, watched him with anxious eyes.Suddenly von Kuhne sprang to his feet."Stand up!" he bellowed, looking at the younger man with an expression of utter ferocity. "You blind, thick-witted fool!"Captain Cherriton's pallid features were flushed, an angry light lit in his eye. He opened his mouth and was about to speak, but von Kuhne swept the words out of his mouth with a savage gesture."Speak no words to me, you —— but read that letter!"He thrust Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's closely-written sheets into the younger man's hands."Read that!" he roared, "and see to what pass you have brought us!"Cherriton began to read, and as he read the colour left his face. Von Kuhne hurried to the bell and jangled it savagely. Conrad precipitated himself into the room in a state of nervous agitation. He was used to authority, but he had never yet known a bell to ring with such violence.Doctor Voules's face turned towards him did nothing to dissipate his alarm."Tell Herr Manwitz to come here this instant," roared Voules."Very good, Excellenz." He paused a moment, then added: "Mr. Bernard Treves is here, Excellenz. Shall I also tell him to enter?"Doctor Voules drew in a deep breath. He turned slowly and looked into Cherriton's eyes.The stillness that ensued was intense and portentous. The glance that passed between Voules and Cherriton was one of infinite meaning. Voules's expression of ferocity moderated; he turned his eyes again to the intimidated Conrad standing in the doorway."How long has Mr. Treves been here?""A few minutes only, Herr Excellenz. He came in after Herr Manwitz.""Very good, Conrad! You will take particular care Mr. Treves does not leave the house, and you will in the meantime send Herr Manwitz to me.""Very good, Excellenz.""You understand my order in regard to Herr Treves?""Yes, Excellenz. He is not to leave the house."General von Kuhne nodded and turned on his heel. As the door closed upon Conrad, his implacable eyes once more sought Cherriton."The letter you hold," he began, making a stiff gesture towards Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's missive, which Cherriton was still studying—"the letter you hold in your hand convicts this man completely. His treachery to us, his espionage"—he paused a moment—"may bring upon us the utmost disaster. In failing to discover his duplicity you have shown yourself no less than a sheep-headed fool!""Herr Excellenz!" protested Baron von Rathenau, drawing himself up, a flush of colour animating his dull pallor."I am your superior officer!" countered von Kuhne. "It is, fortunately, my privilege to speak plain words to you; it is equally my privilege to command your obedience. You have failed in regard to this young man, Bernard Treves. From the first hour of his contact with Manwitz he has clearly tricked you both!""May I venture to remind you, Excellenz, that he tricked you also?"Von Kuhne lifted his fierce and truculent gaze.Cherriton was neither intimidated nor silenced."He tricked you, Herr Excellenz, the day of his first visit here. You announced to me then that you were satisfied. You observed upon his wrists the punctured marks which proved him, as you said, Excellenz, to be addicted to the injection of drugs."Von Kuhne waved these objections aside."I based my opinion upon his dossier provided for me by you and Manwitz." He began to pace the floor, with his hands behind his back, his head thrust forward in deep thought. "This affair, Rathenau," he said at length, "this discovery grows more and more sinister. It is clear to anyone not utterly a fool that every step of yours and Manwitz has been dogged for many weeks past. What this young man knows of our plans we shall never learn; what he has confided to his authorities we can only guess. One thing, however, is certain: whether he knows much or little, his activities must cease." He paused and looked full into the younger man's face. "Do you gather my meaning?"Cherriton bowed."I understand, Excellenz."Von Kuhne continued to pace the carpet."I shall rely upon you for effective measures."At that moment a knock fell upon the door, and Conrad ushered Herr Manwitz into the room, and closed the door upon him. The big, fat man, with his swarthy, pouched cheeks, his bristling black moustache and iron-grey hair, bowed deferentially to von Kuhne."You desired to see me, Excellenz?"Von Kuhne walked to the table, took up Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's letter, and handed it to him."Read that!" he said curtly. He spoke in German, and used the commanding tone of an exalted German officer speaking to a subordinate. Manwitz read the letter from end to end, and as he read the colour receded from his cheeks, his heart-beat quickened in growing apprehension. As the import of the letter grew plain to him, his apprehension amounted almost to terror. The thought that Treves was a member of the English secret service filled him with infinite dread. He had never in his most suspicious moments conceived such a thing as possible. Treves, the neurotic, the weak-minded drug-taker! The man who had shown cowardice in the face of the enemy, and had narrowly escaped court-martial! Was it possible that this good-looking, feeble fool had been at one and the same time a steady-nerved, watchful member of the English Intelligence Department? Even now, as he read Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's plain words, he could not credit them. Nevertheless he was afraid—mortally afraid—for his own skin. The Tower of London and a firing squad had always loomed at the back of Manwitz' mind as a thing of infinite menace. The English were so peremptory in these matters—no talk, no fuss; merely a firing squad and oblivion! He possessed none of Cherriton's cold and brutal courage. And the thought that his own name was written in the tablets of the English secret service, the knowledge that his every movement may have been watched by a skilful English spy, sent a tremor through him that was visible both to von Kuhne and Cherriton."You discovered this man!" said von Kuhne, thrusting out his chin and fixing his cold gaze upon Manwitz."That I admit," answered Manwitz; "but I am prepared to swear that he was indeed what I thought him to be. I took the utmost care, Excellenz, and it was long before I trusted him. His information, Excellenz, enabled us to sink thePolidor.""That is quite true, Excellenz," Cherriton said, suddenly puzzled."And in regard to his habits," went on Manwitz, "I have seen him many times under the influence of drugs, with all the symptoms, Excellenz, which I was careful to study—dilation of the pupils, irritability, fear of imaginary enemies——"Von Kuhne waved his hand, but Manwitz persisted."Excellenz, he must have changed greatly, if he is, indeed, the man mentioned here!""You fool!" von Kuhne thrust at him; "of course he is the same man! We are speaking of Treves, and no other!""He must have changed, Excellenz!" protested Manwitz. "Treves, as I knew him, would never have had the nerve to act against us. I impressed upon him, Excellenz, what the punishment for treachery would be, and he values his own skin above all things in the world.""Perhaps almost as much as you value yours!" added von Kuhne, with a sneer of contempt. "I have to warn you, Manwitz, I shall expect you to act decisively and without reservation! The Fatherland requires that this man who has betrayed us shall expiate his treachery! Do you get my meaning?""Yes, Excellenz.""You will understand," he said, looking from one to the other, "that I am speaking officially and in my capacity as director of intelligence. You will obey me"—his eyes turned towards Cherriton—"as though we were upon the sacred soil of the Fatherland!"He was standing at the table, resting one hand on the cloth. He spoke as a judge pronouncing a sentence, and in the eyes of von Rathenau and Manwitz he was, indeed, this. They took orders from him as inferior officers receiving orders from a general of division. "The removal of this man is an act of mere military justice. My orders are that you, Manwitz, and you, Baron von Rathenau, administer this just sentence!" He was passing what amounted to sentence of death on Bernard Treves. In doing this he felt no qualm, no sensitive doubt whatever. If he had occupied an English town in his true character as a German general in command, he would have put to death a hundred persons for not a tithe of the crime that John had committed against him. In sentencing John to death, in appointing Cherriton and Manwitz his executioners, he was carrying out what to him was a just, even a moderate law. He had been brought up to slaughter; he had been taught from boyhood to crush the Fatherland's enemies. To intimidate by frightfulness was the highest German ideal. He was a typical military German—that is, a typical cold-blooded murderer. He crossed to the bell now and jangled it again—this time not quite so sharply."My orders," he said to Cherriton, over his shoulder, "are to be carried out as expeditiously as possible. I leave the method in your hands." He turned his eyes upon Manwitz. "I shall expect you to co-operate in the work, Manwitz!"At that moment Conrad presented himself in the door-way."Tell Mr. Treves to come in," said von Kuhne.Two minutes later John entered the room. His erect figure, his clear eye, instantly caught von Kuhne's attention; every one of the German's suspicions was in that moment doubly confirmed. For a moment von Kuhne felt inclined to draw his pistol and shoot Manton down where he stood, but by a powerful effort he assumed his suave "Doctor Voules" manner."Come in, Mr. Treves," he said. "We have seen very little of you of late."John came into the room and shook hands with Manwitz. He had not seen him for some time. Manwitz's hand was cold and flabby to the touch. John felt the atmosphere tense and electrical; he knew in some subtle way that Voules' smoothness of tone was a veneer to hide other and deeper feelings. The eyes of the three Germans seemed to watch him with unusual closeness. He instantly jumped to the conclusion that Cherriton had been conveying his suspicions to von Kuhne. The thought that Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's suspicions had been aroused was the last thing that would have entered his head.He stayed for some minutes talking upon general topics. He had come in answer to a summons from von Kuhne, and was surprised that the German had given him no definite instructions. On behalf of Dacent Smith, John had already gathered a good deal of data about the approaching operations. He knew more than a little of the great blow Germany was preparing, and he felt a little puzzled that von Kuhne appeared to have upon this occasion nothing for him to do."You must come again," said the German; "we will have a further talk." He glanced at Cherriton. Cherriton understood the meaning of the look."Which way are you going, Treves?""Oh! I shall cycle back to Freshwater," John answered. "I promised my father I'd stay a night with him.""That's exactly my way back," answered Cherriton."It is my way also," added Manwitz, "but I'm afraid you'll have to leave me behind, as I have no cycle."The upshot was that a few minutes later, in a pause between two heavy downfalls of rain, John and Cherriton set out and cycled away together from Voules's residence.John and Cherriton cycled side by side. It was John's plan to spend the night with Treves's father. He was fond of the old soldier, and in deceiving him was merely carrying out his chosen part. He was playing a dangerous game in his country's interests. And the first man to applaud his actions would have been the fine old soldier, whose own son had proved so utter a disappointment. Therefore John felt no compunction in the deception.He knew that infinite caution was required of him, and that the shrewd eyes of Captain Cherriton were always upon him. He knew that at any moment "Voules," or Cherriton or Mrs. Beecher Monmouth might stumble upon the knowledge of his true identity. In that case not only would his utility to Dacent Smith come to an abrupt end, but his own chances of escape from his enemies' ruthlessness would be hardly worth contemplating. He was surprised to find that, as he and Cherriton rode side by side, the tall German talked more volubly and affably than usual. He seemed to have forgotten his suspicions of John, his peculiar attitude in Doctor Voules's room had vanished. He questioned John cheerfully as to his recent movements, and, when John evaded his questions a little too obviously, he rallied his companion, suggesting that he was a gay dog, that he was neglecting his wife and bestowing his attentions elsewhere.John looked at him keenly upon the mention of Elaine's name, but he could read nothing on the German's pallid, heavy-boned face. Nevertheless, as he rode, and as they drew near to Freshwater, John became aware that his companion had been pumping him with a good deal of subtlety. He was trying to find out something—what that something was John could not guess.They rode up a long hill together and came in sight of the sea. The view was magnificent, despite the lowering clouds and the rain, which had begun to fall again. Upon their right hand, sloping towards the sea and the white cliffs, lay a wide expanse of down, broken by small coppices and clumps of gorse. There was an old grey stone farm-house, with farm buildings, in the distance and in the middle of the down, near a clump of trees, were two single-storied labourers' cottages.Cherriton drew John's attention to these buildings."I want you to come and have a look at that little place, Treves," he said, in a casual tone."What is its particular interest?" asked John."It has a particular interest for me," Cherriton answered, "because I have rented it furnished for six months. It is a delightful little place, and just the sort of bachelor abode to suit me." He turned his light blue eyes and looked with what might have been called frankness into John's face. "I hope you'll give me the pleasure of being my guest there one of these days soon. Doctor Voules is lending me Conrad for servant, and I shall be able to make you fairly comfortable.""Thanks," said John; "I shall be pleased to come.""Why not come and have a look at it now?" continued Cherriton. "We can't ride across the heather, but there is a path, and we can push our bicycles.""Thanks all the same," said John, "but I am afraid I cannot spare the time.""I can give you a very decent peg of whisky," said Cherriton, quietly.John, playing the part of Bernard Treves, smiled."I am afraid I must keep off the whisky, as I am going to see my father," he answered adroitly.After that Cherriton pressed him no more. Presently, however, he slackened his pace."This is where I get off," he said. He dismounted, and John also alighted. "Why not come in until the rain is over?""I don't mind the rain," said John.Cherriton turned and pushed his bicycle through the gap in the stone wall. He was still scheming with all his thoughts to get John into the secluded cottage. A new thought came to him."By the way," he said, "has your friend Manwitz been able to give you any of the tablets you used to be so anxious about?" He paused a moment, looking John steadily in the eyes, "or have you managed to break the habit?"John detected something in his tone which caused him to move warily."I have had nothing from him for some time; and, as for breaking that sort of habit, it isn't so easy. What made you ask that?""Merely the fact," answered Cherriton, cunningly, "that I think I can give you what you want."John had already detected that the other had a strong reason for getting him into the cottage, and, though at first he had made up his mind to accept no invitation, he now saw that he was liable to fall into a trap. For if he declined to come to the cottage for the tablets, which were a mania with Treves, he would without doubt deepen Cherriton's suspicions. Therefore, acting the part of Treves, he broke into a laugh."Well, if you put it like that," he said, "I suppose I must come."Five minutes later he followed Cherriton through a gate in a low stone wall, crossed the patch of ground before the cottage, and entered the single-storied building. The house was silent and deserted. John discovered that the place, formerly two workmen's cottages, had been knocked into one, and furnished for the purpose of letting.The room in which John stood was low, and a gate-legged table occupied the middle of the apartment. There was an old-fashioned fireplace, three or four chintz-covered chairs, and chintz curtains. From the window John could obtain a distant view of a grey sea and a leaden sky."It's not over cheerful in here, is it?" said Cherriton. "I think we had better have a fire." He put a match to the fire, then took whisky and glasses from the cupboard. "One peg won't hurt you," he remarked, pouring out a drink for John. "While you are drinking, I'll look for the tablets."He stayed in the room for some minutes after that. John noticed that he poured himself a stiff dose of whisky, and drank it down with only a moderate addition of water. He gave John the impression of a man who is strung up to a high pitch of tension. He was restless and walked the floor, explaining to John that he intended to spend the rest of the summer and the autumn there."I have a good deal of writing to do," he said, "and Dr. Voules wants me to be near him. It's not a bad little place this, is it?""Not at all," said John.Cherriton went out of the room into a bedroom with two windows, one of which looked over a deserted-looking yard, with a covered well at the further end. He stood at the window, gazing out into this yard, with puckered brows, for several minutes. Then he began to open and shut drawers in the dressing-table, making a considerable noise.He came into the sitting-room a few minutes later and apologised to John, saying that he must have made a mistake about the tablets."I can find no sign of them," he said, "but you must come again, and I promise to have some for you."John, who had been watching him closely, suddenly rose from his chair and confronted him."Look here, Cherriton," he demanded, "what's your game?"Cherriton's face took on a stony expression"What game?" he demanded."Why are you so deucedly restless?"Cherriton broke into a laugh."It's your imagination. I am not in the least restless; I am only worried that I have dragged you here for nothing. Have another whisky?""No, thanks," said John, this time firmly. "I must be pushing along." He happened to be looking into Cherriton's face as he said this, and something took place on the other's face that startled him—a flame of something like ferocity lit up in the German's eyes, then instantly vanished. After that, however, he made no further attempt to detain John. He came to the end of the little cottage garden as John went away, and watched him as he mounted his bicycle and rode away towards Freshwater. Then he returned to the cottage, closed the door behind him, and, dropping into a chair, took out Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's letter and read it carefully from end to end.He was still in his chair at the hearth half an hour later when Manwitz knocked at the door, and came in."Come in, Manwitz, come in!" said Cherriton, rising. Manwitz had halted in the doorway, and was slowly drawing off his mackintosh. There was a mute expression in his eyes. Cherriton, reading his expression, pointed to a chair at the opposite side of the hearth."Sit down, Manwitz; nothing has happened yet; our friend is spending the night with his father, but he has arranged to come over here to see me to-morrow."Manwitz took a handkerchief from his inner pocket, and mopped his brow."It is terrible, Herr Baron! His Excellenz affirms that he has been watching us from the beginning, but in that case how can he explain the sinking of thePolidor?""The time for explanations has gone, Manwitz. Treves's discoveries, whatever they are, must not be permitted to check the great work his Excellenz has put his hand to."For some minutes after that there was silence between the two men; then Manwitz spoke, easing his collar about his fat throat:"His Excellenz impressed upon me, Herr Baron, the business of Mr. Treves is of the utmost urgency.""That is understood," Cherriton answered grimly. "But His Excellenz has no wish that I should play the fool and expose myself to unnecessary danger. His Excellenz can rely entirely upon my discretion—and our united capacity to carry out his command, eh, Manwitz?"Manwitz smiled and nodded, but entirely without enjoyment. Cherriton's coolness in face of the terrible duty that lay before them filled him with both terror and envy.
CHAPTER XXVI
One afternoon, when Colonel Hobin's permission had been obtained, Parkson invited Mrs. Beecher Monmouth to tea at Heatherpoint Fort. It was only occasionally that ladies were allowed to enter the fort gates. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, however, was a well-known woman, and her recent sorrow won for her every one's commiseration. In sending her the permit to enter the fort—a slip of yellow paper, rubber stamped, and with Colonel Hobin's signature scrawled at the foot—Parkson apologised for the roughness of the fare he would be able to offer her.
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had been deftly angling for an invitation to the fort from the moment of her arrival.
Upon the next afternoon she attired herself with special care, and, when ready, made the eleven miles journey to Heatherpoint in a hired car.
She smiled graciously at the first sentry to halt her vehicle at the foot of the wide road leading to the fort gate. At the tall iron gates themselves, which clanked noisily open when her pass had been inspected by the guard, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was conscious of a slight tremor. The sensation of being behind closed gates—for the gates clanked immediately shut upon her entrance—filled her with a sudden throb of fear. The abrupt movements, the expressionless faces of the guard also disturbed her. She had ventured a great deal in her work on behalf of the German secret service, but this was the first occasion where she had, as it were, stepped deliberately into the jaws of the lion. Her quick eyes took in all her surroundings; the cliff rose abruptly to her left; the muzzle of a six-inch gun peering out over the Solent was visible twenty yards away upon her right. A sergeant, still holding her pass in his hand, looked at her inquiringly.
"You wish to see Lieutenant Parkson?"
"Yes, please." Her heart was still beating swiftly. She had not foreseen that the gates would be clanged ruthlessly shut behind her.
The sergeant turned on his heel.
"Will you come this way, madame?"
He began to ascend steep ladder-like steps laid against the face of the cliff. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth followed the grim khaki-clad figure.
"Please, not quite so fast," she entreated, and paused for breath.
Three hundred feet below her, looking almost straight down, she could see the blue waters of the Solent shining in the sunlight. Tiny white-crested waves fell languidly into the little bay, with its jutting pier that before the war had been thronged with holiday-makers, but which was now empty and deserted. Beyond the pier, three miles away, on the mainland promontory the tower of the Ponsonby Lighthouse gleamed beautiful and white.
"What a lovely view, sergeant."
"Yes, madame."
"But in winter it must be very cold up here."
"Yes, madame."
He was standing eight or ten steps above her, eyeing a tangle of barbed wire which covered a green hill slope, with indifferent eyes. He did not approve of visitors to the fort, especially ladies. What did ladies want climbing ladders and nosing about in places where they were not wanted; they were never allowed to see anything important. And as for the so-called view, they could get a better one at the Shakespeare Monument a little farther along the downs. This was Sergeant Ewins's opinion as he conducted Lieutenant Parkson's visitor up the steep steps to the little well-hidden mess-room at the cliff top, and even Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's unparalleled beauty and charm failed to win a smile from him. Parkson, who had been on duty until that minute, came running towards them as they entered the small asphalted courtyard. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, her eyes shining, her breath coming quickly with the exertion of the ascent, clasped his hand in hers.
Parkson dismissed Ewins and apologised briskly for not being able to receive her at the fort gates.
"I was on duty till this minute. Our colonel's a bit of a martinet."
"Is he not popular?" asked Mrs. Beecher Monmouth in the low intimate—we two are alone in all the world—voice she knew so well how to use.
Parkson opened his eyes wide.
"Good Lord, yes; he's most awfully popular. He is just, you see, and the men always appreciate that."
He led his visitor into the single story building, and along a passage toward the little mess-room. Here Mrs. Beecher Monmouth seated herself in the only armchair—a cheap wicker article—and surveyed the room with smiling, but intensely receptive eyes. In a flash she took in the bare boarded floor, the trestle table, the colonel's cigar box on the mantelshelf, the Admiralty chart of the Solent which covered the end wall and lastly, the old piano, which was the worst treated instrument in the Isle of Wight.
Parkson bustled about at the tea-table, and Mrs. Beecher Monmouth presently turned her attention upon him.
"Will anyone come in and disturb us if I help you to make the table a little more presentable?" she asked.
"I'm afraid they will," Parkson answered. "But I managed to choose a time when only one officer is likely to come in."
"Is he old and grumpy, or young and nice-looking like you?" Mrs. Beecher Monmouth looked at him with raillery in her fine eyes. She was helping herself to marmalade, and was making the best of the thickness of the bread and butter, and the strong tea Parkson had poured out for her.
"Oh, he's a dashed sight better looking than I am," admitted Parkson modestly; "his name is Sinclair, an old regular officer."
"I am sure I shall not like him," said Mrs. Beecher Monmouth.
It was fully a quarter of an hour before Sinclair made his appearance, and then the tea was nearly cold. He came in, and was introduced to Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. Looking at his lean, handsome face and audacious eyes she could have sworn that she had seen him somewhere before. As a matter of fact, his appearance was vaguely familiar to her because one of Sinclair's earlier duties that year had been to watch her at little dinner parties at the Savoy, Carlton and Ritz Hotels.
"I think we have met before," probed Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, furrowing her brows, and fixing her gaze on Sinclair's face.
"I am afraid I have not had that pleasure," replied Sinclair, who could act the part of smiling fatuity to perfection. He was thinking how well she looked in her widow's weeds, and how extraordinary cheerful was her manner, considering the tragedy that had recently befallen her.
Parkson and Mrs. Beecher Monmouth soon left the mess-room, and immediately they were gone Sinclair rose from the table, hurried to his room, and wrote a code telegram to Dacent Smith.
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth is here. What action shall I take?
Two hours later his Chief's answer came.
Take no action. Treves handling the matter.
While Sinclair was writing his telegram Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had accompanied Parkson out into the asphalted yard. Only certain limited areas of the fort were open to friends of the officers. "I am afraid it is very feminine of me," exclaimed Mrs. Monmouth as they passed the bakehouse door, "but I should so love to peep inside."
"By all means," responded Parkson, showing himself indulgent to feminine curiosity.
She tripped across the yard, and peered into the half darkness of the bakehouse. She was carrying out her instructions, which were to find out what had become of Sims, but even the astuteness of Dacent Smith himself at this moment would have failed to detect guile in the girlish innocence of her expression as she looked into the face of the red-haired Scotch baker who had succeeded Sims. She examined the great tray of newly-baked loaves, uttered feminine exclamations of astonishment and admiration at all she saw, and finally smiled sweetly into the face of the dour Scotch corporal.
"I suppose you have been here ages and ages, Mr. Lyle?"
"No, madam, it's no more than a month since I came."
Parkson, who had listened good-humouredly, awaited her at the door, and as they crossed the asphalt together Mrs. Monmouth questioned him as to the baker who had preceded Lyle. She put her questions deftly, in a manner that would arouse no suspicion.
"Oh, no, Sims isn't at the front." He looked at her for a moment with fleeting doubt in his gaze, and decided to say no more about Sims. But Mrs. Monmouth's keen eyes interpreted his expression of reserve. He knew something. She smiled inwardly. What he knew she, too, would know.
"I am afraid we must stop here," Parkson suddenly said, "I am not allowed to take anyone beyond this barbed wire."
"Do you never allow visitors to go there?"
"Never," answered Parkson emphatically.
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned her resplendent countenance upon him. There was a vivid colour in her cheeks; the rich curve of her lips glowed scarlet.
"How wonderful it all is—and, I suppose," she went on, looking at him with what he and any other man would have believed to be admiration, "you are watching and waiting, all day and all night—waiting for the enemy?"
"Something of the sort," answered Parkson wearily. "You never know; he may come any time."
"Do you expect him?"
They were at the top of the steps which led to the lower fort, the superb panorama of Alum Bay, the Ponsonby Lighthouse and the English coast lay at their feet.
"I can't say that we expect him any longer," answered Parkson, naturally, "but we live in hope!"
"I suppose the fort is very strong?"
"I expect it's capable of doing its bit," Parkson answered judicially.
"I suppose you have made it much stronger in the last few months—since the Germans began to do badly on the Western front?"
Parkson looked at her quickly, and she broke into a little musical laugh.
"How silly I am!" she exclaimed. "I am talking just like a man. That comes of living with a Member of Parliament."
This was the only reference she had made to her husband, but she made it in a tone which was intended to convey to Parkson that Mr. Beecher Monmouth was completely and irrevocably dead, and that being a young and vital woman, she, on her part, could not be expected to mourn his loss eternally.
They descended the steps together, and, in pretty timidity, she laid her fingers upon his arm. In Parkson's short career of gallantry he had never felt so much a man of the world as at that moment.
When the steep descent had been made, and they were upon the level of the lower fort, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth expressed much interest in the view that was to be obtained from that level. But Parkson shook his head, and explained that no visitors whatever were admitted to the lower fort.
Failing in that project, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned her eyes upon the tall barred gate which cut her off from the world outside. Parkson explained to her with a masterful smile, that, until he gave the word, she was a prisoner in the fort.
"You can test it, if you like," he said; "all you have to do is to walk to the gate and try to get out."
It was nearly six o'clock, and Parkson was due upon duty at seven.
"Look here," he said, "I have just time to show you out of the fort the other way, across the links. I'm afraid you'll have to go up the steps again."
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, however, showed herself quite willing to make an ascent to the upper level. She was interested and delighted in everything she saw.
At the top of the cliff, with the short green turf underfoot, old Lieutenant-Commander Greaves met them, and saluted, and went to his eyrie, his glass-covered look-out with its great swivel telescope.
"What a delightful old naval officer!"
"He is," returned Parkson, "and as keen as mustard."
His companion put a few deft questions; it was as though she put out invisible tentacles, groping for matter that could be valuable.
Before they reached the confines of the fort Parkson led her to the cliff edge, to the exact spot wherefrom Manton had looked down upon Sims busy upon the sands. Far below them lay the quiet little bay—there was scarcely a ripple upon the blue sunlit water, and the waves rolled and fell languidly with a musical cadence.
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth seated herself beside Parkson and admired the view. She was clever enough not to force the pace; he was already entangled in her meshes, but he was not yet completely helpless. Aforetime she had conquered and wrought the undoing of men far subtler than Parkson.
"What a lovely, lovely bay, Mr. Parkson!"
Parkson admitted the beauty of the bay. He told her that it was within the area of the fort, and that it was not accessible to the public, and that there was only one way of approaching it by a narrow path descending the chalk cliff. Then quite insidiously and with incredible dexterity she led him round to talk of Sims. Months later, when Parkson recalled that conversation, he was totally unable to account for the manner in which she had achieved a return to this subject. Sims, the lank, cadaverous and bead-eyed Sims—who was really Steinbaum and a German spy—what had this man to do with the beauty and splendour of the sunlit evening? Why should his existence interest the tragically bereaved young widow, the society woman, who Parkson truly believed had fallen in love with himself? "Heart taken at the rebound," the young man quoted in fatuous gratification. He felt delighted to think that old Greaves had seen him in company of this lovely widow. He wanted the ancient naval officer to think him a dog, and when he and Mrs. Beecher Monmouth rose and passed between attentive sentries out of the fort into the downs, Parkson helped the lovely widow up certain steps, out through certain areas of barbed wire, by taking her arm in his. He wondered if old Greaves, in his glass look-out, was watching them—old Greaves saw pretty much everything that went on in the upper fort. But on this occasion it was not Greaves, but Captain Sinclair who watched him—watched every movement they made from Greaves' glass-encompassed tower.
"What do you think of that friend of Parkson's, Commander?" asked Sinclair, as Parkson and his guest passed finally out of the fort.
"She's the best-looking woman I've seen here since the war began," responded Greaves. "When I was a young man," he went on wickedly, drawing at his pipe, "I always went in for widows. There is always so much more to 'em."
"In this case," Sinclair answered, "the widow seems to be bearing her sorrow pretty lightly!"
"Old husbands are soon forgotten by young wives," observed Greaves philosophically. "When I was in Minorca, in the old Benbow, in '72 or '73," he began, and told Sinclair with never-ending gusto one of his somewhat highly-spiced stories of youthful adventures of his midship days.
In the meantime Parkson conducted Mrs. Beecher Monmouth down to her waiting motor-car. They descended the steep hillside, and Parkson still helped her on every occasion. The hired Ford car had been turned in the narrow road. Parkson, with a glance at his watch, helped her into the vehicle, daringly stepped in beside her, and placed the dust-cover over both their knees.
"I can have a five minutes' drive with you and get back by seven," he announced.
"But I didn't invite you, Mr. Parkson."
"Your eyes invited me," he returned audaciously, and under the dust-cover he slid his fingers towards hers.
There ensued a palpitating moment, then Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned her radiantly beautiful face slightly towards him; under long, curved lashes she gave him a sidelong glance. Then, so that the chauffeur should not overhear, she whispered, framing the words with her lips:
"You bad, bad, naughty officer!"
But she did not remove her hand, which was now enclosed in his.
Parkson thought it a lucky chance that she had discarded her gloves. Parkson, in fact, was green enough to trust her absolutely. He was, indeed, the veriest babe in her hands. Her face was full towards him now. She was smiling, exhibiting her splendid teeth, and looking deep into his eyes. Her black hat and widow's weeds added only to the brilliancy of her complexion, to the scarlet richness of her fine lips. There was something in her gaze, in the warm intensity of her regard, its lingering softness, that utterly swept away Parkson's self-possession. He leaned toward her and dropped his voice.
"If it wasn't for the sentries there on the hill-top," he murmured, "I'd kiss you now!"
"Bad boy," she said with her lips.
She had a way of talking with her lips and uttering no sound that concentrated attention on her sensuous charms.
Parkson's five minutes in the car seemed to him five minutes of heaven. He was completely and utterly enamoured—and as to the future, the future seemed to blaze before him in radiant and glorious romance. He wondered how far he could go—he had never seen a woman like her. Beautiful, feminine, coy, loving.... What a blind idiot, thought he, Beecher Monmouth must have been to shoot himself.
"When shall we meet again?" he whispered, as he alighted from the car at the end of the fort road.
"I'm afraid I shall have to meet you again soon, you naughty boy!"
She put out her supple white hand, adorned only with a wedding ring. Parkson seized her fingers and impressed a fervent kiss upon them.
As the car swept away, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned and waved a little handkerchief in farewell.
CHAPTER XXVII
When Mrs. Monmouth reached the hotel in Newport, something over an hour after bidding Parkson farewell, Cecily awaited her in the little sitting-room.
"Are you ready, madame, to dress for dinner?" asked the maid.
"Yes, Cecily, and I shall dine here to-night."
She went into the bedroom, and Cecily disrobed her. During this ceremony the girl hesitated once or twice on the point of speaking, then refrained.
"Well, what is it, Cecily? What is it you want to say?"
"It is something important, madame, that has occurred."
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned and opened her eyes in interrogation.
"What, for instance?" she demanded.
Cecily, who was at the wardrobe, took out her mistress's evening skirt.
"To-day, madame, when you were away, I made acquaintance of one of the men at Heatherpoint Fort——"
"Ah!" ejaculated Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, suddenly interested; "so soon—that was clever of you."
"He told me, in regard to Sims, madame, he merely left the fort——"
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth nodded indifferently; she was disappointed.
"Is that all you learned, Cecily?"
"No, madame. I learned also that Lieutenant Treves, who was supposed by us to be staying with his father, was, however, at that time acting as one of the officers at Heatherpoint."
This was the first Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had heard of John's presence at the fort. She was at first inclined to disbelieve it. Then, when Cecily proved circumstantially that the statement was true, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth felt inclined to dismiss the matter as of no moment. If Treves had been at Heatherpoint, he was there evidently with the knowledge of von Kuhne, and possibly was acting in von Kuhne's interests, and, for her part, she was not in the least inclined to doubt John—he was one of her admirers. A more resourceful and more attractive man than Parkson, and, nevertheless, equally a victim of her charms. She flattered herself she could do a great deal with Bernard Treves. As for his attempting to deceive her, that seemed out of the question. She pointed out to Cecily that Treves's stay at Heatherpoint Fort did not mean that the young man had betrayed the German secret service, which was rewarding him so handsomely.
Cecily, however, had a further and more serious statement to make.
"When I am suspicious, madame," she said, "I am thinking not so much of Mr. Treves's visit to the fort——"
She was at Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's back now, hooking her dress, and a silence fell.
"Well?" demanded her mistress shortly.
"I am thinking, madame," went on Cecily, "of the night of Mr. Beecher Monmouth's death."
She paused again, but her mistress made no remark, and Cecily went on:
"On that night, madame, when I had folded away your things, I took a skirt into the housekeeper's room to brush. While I brushed it I talked with Mr. Duckett, the butler, who was also there. There was no ring at the front-door bell, madame—and yet when I returned to your bedroom there was a light there."
"You left it on before you went down, Cecily!"
"No, madame, I turned it off. I was very surprised to see the light, as I knew you were out, madame, and I—I——"
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned and scrutinised the maid's sallow face and bead-like eyes.
"You looked through the keyhole!" she said.
"Yes, madame."
"And saw my husband, who had come back unexpectedly."
"No, madame; I saw Mr. Treves. Mr. Beecher Monmouth had not come home then; and Mr. Treves, madame, was standing near your dressing-table with a small box in his hands."
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth flashed an intense glance upon her.
"What sort of box?"
"A black box, madame, the one you kept among your furs."
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's hand suddenly leapt out and gripped Cecily's wrist. Her voice grew low, little more than a hissing whisper.
"What are you saying, Cecily? What was Mr. Treves doing?"
"I don't know, madame."
Cecily twisted her arm, attempting to free it.
"Please, madame, you are hurting my wrist!"
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth thrust forth her face—her brilliant eyes had grown hard as agate.
"Why did you never tell me this before?"
"I thought, madame, you knew he was there."
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth relaxed her grip; she stepped back a pace or two and threw up her head.
"God in heaven, what a fool you are!"
"It was natural I should think that," protested Cecily, recoiling a step or two.
"Natural! You idiot!"
"He came in with your key, madame."
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth stared in utter amazement.
"My key?"
"Yes, madame; I saw him fling something under the table, and found afterwards it was your key. He must have taken it from your bag, madame, when he visited you in the afternoon."
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth suddenly twisted on her heel and began to pace the room. The truth had smitten her like a blow. Wild thoughts surged through her brain. All these long months she had believed herself tricking and duping Bernard Treves—her business in life was to trick, dupe, and mould men to her own ends, to the ends of the Fatherland, to the imposition of its monstrous Kultur upon the world—and now this man, this handsome, drug-sodden weakling had out-manoeuvred her! She had spun a web for him, had toyed with him, expended her charm upon him, and all the time he had been secretly and darkly laughing in his sleeve. Instead of a friend and a tool, he had been an astute and daring enemy!
Enemy—that was the word. An enemy of infinite danger to herself, to von Kuhne, to Cherriton, to Manwitz—to them all. An enemy to the Fatherland! An enemy to the great, crushing blow that was about to fall upon those arrogant and high-stomached English!
Her concealed letters, that meant everything, that exposed everything, had been found—not by her husband—but by this cool and steel-nerved, subtle-witted enemy—this young man who now, from that evidence, could piece together all her life-history.
As this thought flashed into her mind, she saw her own immediate jeopardy. She lacked nothing of courage; and, being a woman, it was not her own physical peril, nor the wrecking of von Kuhne's plan, that struck her deep—it was not this, but her own vanity that was stricken. She had made many advances to Bernard Treves—she had given much. And, as she thought of the past, a murderous and implacable hate blossomed in her mind against John. An instinct to seize something and rend it to shreds grappled her. She longed to slap Cecily—first on one side of her sallow face and then on the other. She would have liked to take Cecily's arm and twist it until the woman yelled with pain.
But as these things were not permissible, she sat down and wrote a fiery and vitriolic letter to General von Kuhne. She cared nothing now for von Kuhne's authority; they were all in danger. This pleasant, amiable young Englishman had obviously acted against them from the very first. They believed him to be a drug-taker and a discredited English officer with a grievance. And all the time he had been something utterly different.
She wrote this news to von Kuhne, and poured her contempt upon him. She knew these things would hit the chief of the German service between the eyes, and she revelled in the thought. And all the time her intense and passionate nature dwelt upon the thing that must befall Bernard Treves. How much information Treves had conveyed to his department she did not know; but this she knew, that von Kuhne and his myrmidons would effectually stop his mouth. The dark corps of espionage would add another death, another extinction to its secret crimes.
When Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had finished the letter, she closed it, addressed it to Godfrey Manners, Esq., and handed it to Cecily.
"You will take this to Mr. Manners now, and ask him to deliver it to Doctor Voules first thing to-morrow. The doctor is in London to-day, but he will return in the morning. Tell Mr. Manners that the letter is of the utmost importance."
"Very good, madame."
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth detained her a few minutes, questioning her as to Treves's visit on the night of Beecher Monmouth's death; then permitted her to go.
When the maid had departed, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth stood before the little mirror on the hotel dressing-table. "Tricked, duped and fooled!" she murmured.
Then, catching sight of the pearl and emerald pendant John had given her, she snatched it violently from her breast and hurled it into the hearth. It would have given her infinite pleasure at that moment to have murdered John by slow and excruciating torture. Her thoughts were still seething, when the dejected hotel waiter knocked at her door and announced in plaintive tones that dinner awaited her.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Next morning, at twelve o'clock, Doctor Voules sat at the big oak table in his dining-room at Brooke. He had arrived from London in the morning, and was busy consuming a heavy lunch.
The brightness of the day before had vanished; a heavy driving rain was falling. From the single window of the apartment the doctor could obtain a view of drenched foliage in his garden. And, sharp to the left, as one stood at the window, a view of the sea, grey and restless beneath a leaden sky, was visible.
The doctor ate stolidly, grinding his food in heavy, powerful jaws. The only other occupant of the room was Captain Cherriton, who lounged in a chair at the hearth and read a morning newspaper assiduously. Beside him, on the floor, lay four or five other morning news-sheets.
For many minutes, save the drive of the rain and the chink of Voules's knife and fork, no sound broke the stillness of the room. Then Voules turned his chair, took out a cigar and lit it.
"The barometer is falling, Rathenau," he said in his grating, imperious voice—quite another voice from that which he assumed as the bland Doctor Voules.
"It is going down steadily, Excellenz," answered Cherriton.
"Good," returned the elder man. "We must have unsettled weather for the twenty-eighth—eh, Rathenau?"
"It is much to be desired, Excellenz."
The twenty-eighth—it was always the twenty-eighth with General von Kuhne. With machine-like precision his forceful mind returned again and again to that date—the date which was to mark the consummation of his work. The blow, the subtle, heavy blow at England's heart—the blow planned, schemed for, and ordered; the great destruction that had originated in his martial and ruthless mind.
"Things go well, eh?"
"Quite well, Excellenz," Cherriton answered promptly, for as yet he had not found courage to mention to the general his suspicion of Treves. He was not yet positive that Treves had betrayed them, and, in the meantime, he had resolved to say nothing. Rather would he wait and watch, seeking for tangible proof of duplicity on Treves's part.
These thoughts were passing through his mind when a knock came at the door, and Conrad entered to clear away the luncheon things. In his hand he carried a salver upon which lay a single letter, addressed to Doctor Voules, and without a stamp.
The doctor took up the letter.
"Herr Manwitz brought it from Newport, Excellenz," said the servant in German.
"Tell Herr Manwitz I will see him presently, and remain out of the room until I ring for you."
General von Kuhne had recognised Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's handwriting. He began to read almost casually; then, suddenly, his interest intensified, and as he read the lines of his heavy face grew hard, firm and implacable. His colour rose; he eased his collar about his throat and bit heavily upon his long cigar.
Cherriton, noticing his agitation, noticing the blazing wrath that illuminated his face, watched him with anxious eyes.
Suddenly von Kuhne sprang to his feet.
"Stand up!" he bellowed, looking at the younger man with an expression of utter ferocity. "You blind, thick-witted fool!"
Captain Cherriton's pallid features were flushed, an angry light lit in his eye. He opened his mouth and was about to speak, but von Kuhne swept the words out of his mouth with a savage gesture.
"Speak no words to me, you —— but read that letter!"
He thrust Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's closely-written sheets into the younger man's hands.
"Read that!" he roared, "and see to what pass you have brought us!"
Cherriton began to read, and as he read the colour left his face. Von Kuhne hurried to the bell and jangled it savagely. Conrad precipitated himself into the room in a state of nervous agitation. He was used to authority, but he had never yet known a bell to ring with such violence.
Doctor Voules's face turned towards him did nothing to dissipate his alarm.
"Tell Herr Manwitz to come here this instant," roared Voules.
"Very good, Excellenz." He paused a moment, then added: "Mr. Bernard Treves is here, Excellenz. Shall I also tell him to enter?"
Doctor Voules drew in a deep breath. He turned slowly and looked into Cherriton's eyes.
The stillness that ensued was intense and portentous. The glance that passed between Voules and Cherriton was one of infinite meaning. Voules's expression of ferocity moderated; he turned his eyes again to the intimidated Conrad standing in the doorway.
"How long has Mr. Treves been here?"
"A few minutes only, Herr Excellenz. He came in after Herr Manwitz."
"Very good, Conrad! You will take particular care Mr. Treves does not leave the house, and you will in the meantime send Herr Manwitz to me."
"Very good, Excellenz."
"You understand my order in regard to Herr Treves?"
"Yes, Excellenz. He is not to leave the house."
General von Kuhne nodded and turned on his heel. As the door closed upon Conrad, his implacable eyes once more sought Cherriton.
"The letter you hold," he began, making a stiff gesture towards Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's missive, which Cherriton was still studying—"the letter you hold in your hand convicts this man completely. His treachery to us, his espionage"—he paused a moment—"may bring upon us the utmost disaster. In failing to discover his duplicity you have shown yourself no less than a sheep-headed fool!"
"Herr Excellenz!" protested Baron von Rathenau, drawing himself up, a flush of colour animating his dull pallor.
"I am your superior officer!" countered von Kuhne. "It is, fortunately, my privilege to speak plain words to you; it is equally my privilege to command your obedience. You have failed in regard to this young man, Bernard Treves. From the first hour of his contact with Manwitz he has clearly tricked you both!"
"May I venture to remind you, Excellenz, that he tricked you also?"
Von Kuhne lifted his fierce and truculent gaze.
Cherriton was neither intimidated nor silenced.
"He tricked you, Herr Excellenz, the day of his first visit here. You announced to me then that you were satisfied. You observed upon his wrists the punctured marks which proved him, as you said, Excellenz, to be addicted to the injection of drugs."
Von Kuhne waved these objections aside.
"I based my opinion upon his dossier provided for me by you and Manwitz." He began to pace the floor, with his hands behind his back, his head thrust forward in deep thought. "This affair, Rathenau," he said at length, "this discovery grows more and more sinister. It is clear to anyone not utterly a fool that every step of yours and Manwitz has been dogged for many weeks past. What this young man knows of our plans we shall never learn; what he has confided to his authorities we can only guess. One thing, however, is certain: whether he knows much or little, his activities must cease." He paused and looked full into the younger man's face. "Do you gather my meaning?"
Cherriton bowed.
"I understand, Excellenz."
Von Kuhne continued to pace the carpet.
"I shall rely upon you for effective measures."
At that moment a knock fell upon the door, and Conrad ushered Herr Manwitz into the room, and closed the door upon him. The big, fat man, with his swarthy, pouched cheeks, his bristling black moustache and iron-grey hair, bowed deferentially to von Kuhne.
"You desired to see me, Excellenz?"
Von Kuhne walked to the table, took up Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's letter, and handed it to him.
"Read that!" he said curtly. He spoke in German, and used the commanding tone of an exalted German officer speaking to a subordinate. Manwitz read the letter from end to end, and as he read the colour receded from his cheeks, his heart-beat quickened in growing apprehension. As the import of the letter grew plain to him, his apprehension amounted almost to terror. The thought that Treves was a member of the English secret service filled him with infinite dread. He had never in his most suspicious moments conceived such a thing as possible. Treves, the neurotic, the weak-minded drug-taker! The man who had shown cowardice in the face of the enemy, and had narrowly escaped court-martial! Was it possible that this good-looking, feeble fool had been at one and the same time a steady-nerved, watchful member of the English Intelligence Department? Even now, as he read Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's plain words, he could not credit them. Nevertheless he was afraid—mortally afraid—for his own skin. The Tower of London and a firing squad had always loomed at the back of Manwitz' mind as a thing of infinite menace. The English were so peremptory in these matters—no talk, no fuss; merely a firing squad and oblivion! He possessed none of Cherriton's cold and brutal courage. And the thought that his own name was written in the tablets of the English secret service, the knowledge that his every movement may have been watched by a skilful English spy, sent a tremor through him that was visible both to von Kuhne and Cherriton.
"You discovered this man!" said von Kuhne, thrusting out his chin and fixing his cold gaze upon Manwitz.
"That I admit," answered Manwitz; "but I am prepared to swear that he was indeed what I thought him to be. I took the utmost care, Excellenz, and it was long before I trusted him. His information, Excellenz, enabled us to sink thePolidor."
"That is quite true, Excellenz," Cherriton said, suddenly puzzled.
"And in regard to his habits," went on Manwitz, "I have seen him many times under the influence of drugs, with all the symptoms, Excellenz, which I was careful to study—dilation of the pupils, irritability, fear of imaginary enemies——"
Von Kuhne waved his hand, but Manwitz persisted.
"Excellenz, he must have changed greatly, if he is, indeed, the man mentioned here!"
"You fool!" von Kuhne thrust at him; "of course he is the same man! We are speaking of Treves, and no other!"
"He must have changed, Excellenz!" protested Manwitz. "Treves, as I knew him, would never have had the nerve to act against us. I impressed upon him, Excellenz, what the punishment for treachery would be, and he values his own skin above all things in the world."
"Perhaps almost as much as you value yours!" added von Kuhne, with a sneer of contempt. "I have to warn you, Manwitz, I shall expect you to act decisively and without reservation! The Fatherland requires that this man who has betrayed us shall expiate his treachery! Do you get my meaning?"
"Yes, Excellenz."
"You will understand," he said, looking from one to the other, "that I am speaking officially and in my capacity as director of intelligence. You will obey me"—his eyes turned towards Cherriton—"as though we were upon the sacred soil of the Fatherland!"
He was standing at the table, resting one hand on the cloth. He spoke as a judge pronouncing a sentence, and in the eyes of von Rathenau and Manwitz he was, indeed, this. They took orders from him as inferior officers receiving orders from a general of division. "The removal of this man is an act of mere military justice. My orders are that you, Manwitz, and you, Baron von Rathenau, administer this just sentence!" He was passing what amounted to sentence of death on Bernard Treves. In doing this he felt no qualm, no sensitive doubt whatever. If he had occupied an English town in his true character as a German general in command, he would have put to death a hundred persons for not a tithe of the crime that John had committed against him. In sentencing John to death, in appointing Cherriton and Manwitz his executioners, he was carrying out what to him was a just, even a moderate law. He had been brought up to slaughter; he had been taught from boyhood to crush the Fatherland's enemies. To intimidate by frightfulness was the highest German ideal. He was a typical military German—that is, a typical cold-blooded murderer. He crossed to the bell now and jangled it again—this time not quite so sharply.
"My orders," he said to Cherriton, over his shoulder, "are to be carried out as expeditiously as possible. I leave the method in your hands." He turned his eyes upon Manwitz. "I shall expect you to co-operate in the work, Manwitz!"
At that moment Conrad presented himself in the door-way.
"Tell Mr. Treves to come in," said von Kuhne.
Two minutes later John entered the room. His erect figure, his clear eye, instantly caught von Kuhne's attention; every one of the German's suspicions was in that moment doubly confirmed. For a moment von Kuhne felt inclined to draw his pistol and shoot Manton down where he stood, but by a powerful effort he assumed his suave "Doctor Voules" manner.
"Come in, Mr. Treves," he said. "We have seen very little of you of late."
John came into the room and shook hands with Manwitz. He had not seen him for some time. Manwitz's hand was cold and flabby to the touch. John felt the atmosphere tense and electrical; he knew in some subtle way that Voules' smoothness of tone was a veneer to hide other and deeper feelings. The eyes of the three Germans seemed to watch him with unusual closeness. He instantly jumped to the conclusion that Cherriton had been conveying his suspicions to von Kuhne. The thought that Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's suspicions had been aroused was the last thing that would have entered his head.
He stayed for some minutes talking upon general topics. He had come in answer to a summons from von Kuhne, and was surprised that the German had given him no definite instructions. On behalf of Dacent Smith, John had already gathered a good deal of data about the approaching operations. He knew more than a little of the great blow Germany was preparing, and he felt a little puzzled that von Kuhne appeared to have upon this occasion nothing for him to do.
"You must come again," said the German; "we will have a further talk." He glanced at Cherriton. Cherriton understood the meaning of the look.
"Which way are you going, Treves?"
"Oh! I shall cycle back to Freshwater," John answered. "I promised my father I'd stay a night with him."
"That's exactly my way back," answered Cherriton.
"It is my way also," added Manwitz, "but I'm afraid you'll have to leave me behind, as I have no cycle."
The upshot was that a few minutes later, in a pause between two heavy downfalls of rain, John and Cherriton set out and cycled away together from Voules's residence.
John and Cherriton cycled side by side. It was John's plan to spend the night with Treves's father. He was fond of the old soldier, and in deceiving him was merely carrying out his chosen part. He was playing a dangerous game in his country's interests. And the first man to applaud his actions would have been the fine old soldier, whose own son had proved so utter a disappointment. Therefore John felt no compunction in the deception.
He knew that infinite caution was required of him, and that the shrewd eyes of Captain Cherriton were always upon him. He knew that at any moment "Voules," or Cherriton or Mrs. Beecher Monmouth might stumble upon the knowledge of his true identity. In that case not only would his utility to Dacent Smith come to an abrupt end, but his own chances of escape from his enemies' ruthlessness would be hardly worth contemplating. He was surprised to find that, as he and Cherriton rode side by side, the tall German talked more volubly and affably than usual. He seemed to have forgotten his suspicions of John, his peculiar attitude in Doctor Voules's room had vanished. He questioned John cheerfully as to his recent movements, and, when John evaded his questions a little too obviously, he rallied his companion, suggesting that he was a gay dog, that he was neglecting his wife and bestowing his attentions elsewhere.
John looked at him keenly upon the mention of Elaine's name, but he could read nothing on the German's pallid, heavy-boned face. Nevertheless, as he rode, and as they drew near to Freshwater, John became aware that his companion had been pumping him with a good deal of subtlety. He was trying to find out something—what that something was John could not guess.
They rode up a long hill together and came in sight of the sea. The view was magnificent, despite the lowering clouds and the rain, which had begun to fall again. Upon their right hand, sloping towards the sea and the white cliffs, lay a wide expanse of down, broken by small coppices and clumps of gorse. There was an old grey stone farm-house, with farm buildings, in the distance and in the middle of the down, near a clump of trees, were two single-storied labourers' cottages.
Cherriton drew John's attention to these buildings.
"I want you to come and have a look at that little place, Treves," he said, in a casual tone.
"What is its particular interest?" asked John.
"It has a particular interest for me," Cherriton answered, "because I have rented it furnished for six months. It is a delightful little place, and just the sort of bachelor abode to suit me." He turned his light blue eyes and looked with what might have been called frankness into John's face. "I hope you'll give me the pleasure of being my guest there one of these days soon. Doctor Voules is lending me Conrad for servant, and I shall be able to make you fairly comfortable."
"Thanks," said John; "I shall be pleased to come."
"Why not come and have a look at it now?" continued Cherriton. "We can't ride across the heather, but there is a path, and we can push our bicycles."
"Thanks all the same," said John, "but I am afraid I cannot spare the time."
"I can give you a very decent peg of whisky," said Cherriton, quietly.
John, playing the part of Bernard Treves, smiled.
"I am afraid I must keep off the whisky, as I am going to see my father," he answered adroitly.
After that Cherriton pressed him no more. Presently, however, he slackened his pace.
"This is where I get off," he said. He dismounted, and John also alighted. "Why not come in until the rain is over?"
"I don't mind the rain," said John.
Cherriton turned and pushed his bicycle through the gap in the stone wall. He was still scheming with all his thoughts to get John into the secluded cottage. A new thought came to him.
"By the way," he said, "has your friend Manwitz been able to give you any of the tablets you used to be so anxious about?" He paused a moment, looking John steadily in the eyes, "or have you managed to break the habit?"
John detected something in his tone which caused him to move warily.
"I have had nothing from him for some time; and, as for breaking that sort of habit, it isn't so easy. What made you ask that?"
"Merely the fact," answered Cherriton, cunningly, "that I think I can give you what you want."
John had already detected that the other had a strong reason for getting him into the cottage, and, though at first he had made up his mind to accept no invitation, he now saw that he was liable to fall into a trap. For if he declined to come to the cottage for the tablets, which were a mania with Treves, he would without doubt deepen Cherriton's suspicions. Therefore, acting the part of Treves, he broke into a laugh.
"Well, if you put it like that," he said, "I suppose I must come."
Five minutes later he followed Cherriton through a gate in a low stone wall, crossed the patch of ground before the cottage, and entered the single-storied building. The house was silent and deserted. John discovered that the place, formerly two workmen's cottages, had been knocked into one, and furnished for the purpose of letting.
The room in which John stood was low, and a gate-legged table occupied the middle of the apartment. There was an old-fashioned fireplace, three or four chintz-covered chairs, and chintz curtains. From the window John could obtain a distant view of a grey sea and a leaden sky.
"It's not over cheerful in here, is it?" said Cherriton. "I think we had better have a fire." He put a match to the fire, then took whisky and glasses from the cupboard. "One peg won't hurt you," he remarked, pouring out a drink for John. "While you are drinking, I'll look for the tablets."
He stayed in the room for some minutes after that. John noticed that he poured himself a stiff dose of whisky, and drank it down with only a moderate addition of water. He gave John the impression of a man who is strung up to a high pitch of tension. He was restless and walked the floor, explaining to John that he intended to spend the rest of the summer and the autumn there.
"I have a good deal of writing to do," he said, "and Dr. Voules wants me to be near him. It's not a bad little place this, is it?"
"Not at all," said John.
Cherriton went out of the room into a bedroom with two windows, one of which looked over a deserted-looking yard, with a covered well at the further end. He stood at the window, gazing out into this yard, with puckered brows, for several minutes. Then he began to open and shut drawers in the dressing-table, making a considerable noise.
He came into the sitting-room a few minutes later and apologised to John, saying that he must have made a mistake about the tablets.
"I can find no sign of them," he said, "but you must come again, and I promise to have some for you."
John, who had been watching him closely, suddenly rose from his chair and confronted him.
"Look here, Cherriton," he demanded, "what's your game?"
Cherriton's face took on a stony expression
"What game?" he demanded.
"Why are you so deucedly restless?"
Cherriton broke into a laugh.
"It's your imagination. I am not in the least restless; I am only worried that I have dragged you here for nothing. Have another whisky?"
"No, thanks," said John, this time firmly. "I must be pushing along." He happened to be looking into Cherriton's face as he said this, and something took place on the other's face that startled him—a flame of something like ferocity lit up in the German's eyes, then instantly vanished. After that, however, he made no further attempt to detain John. He came to the end of the little cottage garden as John went away, and watched him as he mounted his bicycle and rode away towards Freshwater. Then he returned to the cottage, closed the door behind him, and, dropping into a chair, took out Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's letter and read it carefully from end to end.
He was still in his chair at the hearth half an hour later when Manwitz knocked at the door, and came in.
"Come in, Manwitz, come in!" said Cherriton, rising. Manwitz had halted in the doorway, and was slowly drawing off his mackintosh. There was a mute expression in his eyes. Cherriton, reading his expression, pointed to a chair at the opposite side of the hearth.
"Sit down, Manwitz; nothing has happened yet; our friend is spending the night with his father, but he has arranged to come over here to see me to-morrow."
Manwitz took a handkerchief from his inner pocket, and mopped his brow.
"It is terrible, Herr Baron! His Excellenz affirms that he has been watching us from the beginning, but in that case how can he explain the sinking of thePolidor?"
"The time for explanations has gone, Manwitz. Treves's discoveries, whatever they are, must not be permitted to check the great work his Excellenz has put his hand to."
For some minutes after that there was silence between the two men; then Manwitz spoke, easing his collar about his fat throat:
"His Excellenz impressed upon me, Herr Baron, the business of Mr. Treves is of the utmost urgency."
"That is understood," Cherriton answered grimly. "But His Excellenz has no wish that I should play the fool and expose myself to unnecessary danger. His Excellenz can rely entirely upon my discretion—and our united capacity to carry out his command, eh, Manwitz?"
Manwitz smiled and nodded, but entirely without enjoyment. Cherriton's coolness in face of the terrible duty that lay before them filled him with both terror and envy.