CHAPTER VIThe moment the door closed upon John, General Whiston flung himself into a chair beside Sir Robert's table. There was an expression on his face that puzzled the Police Commissioner."Well, Sir Robert," began the General, "it is an amazing thing, but Captain Gilbert corroborates our prisoner's statements entirely."Sir Robert flashed a glance at the incriminating letters on the table."That's impossible!""Nevertheless, Gilbert, who is a very sound officer, corroborates every word this young man has said. I have ordered Gilbert to present himself here first thing in the morning."Sir Robert was staring in utter bewilderment."You mean we have got the wrong man?""I don't know," answered the General, impatiently; "the thing is beyond my capacity. I've known this young blackguard for years. Only slightly, of course, but I would have sworn to him anywhere. Gilbert, however, tells me an extraordinary story. He says our prisoner is a thoroughly honest fellow, by the name of Manton. He gave me a minute history of the man, who was formerly at Scarthoe Head. I have ordered the adjutant from Scarthoe to report himself here to-morrow. We can then get to the bottom of this extraordinary tangle.""But," protested Sir Robert, "these letters must be explained; and you have had this man watched for months.""Precisely; that complicates matters enormously.""Was Treves guilty of the crimes laid against him, or was this man guilty?" inquired Sir Robert.The General shook his head in bewilderment."Don't ask me; I don't know," he said, "to-morrow will settle everything."The night that followed was the longest that John had ever spent. What if by some awful mischance Captain Gilbert disowned him entirely? However, he could not think that of Gilbert. He was prepared to swear by the Captain's honesty.A police officer called him early next morning. He dressed and was served with a satisfactory breakfast. A morning newspaper was brought to him, but at ten o'clock he was peremptorily summoned to present himself in Sir Robert's room. Under escort he made his way along various passages. The door was opened and he stepped into the room and stood at attention.Sir Robert was not present. General Whiston stood at the window, and near him was a sleek-looking, smooth-haired, clean shaven man in a morning coat, well cut trousers and patent leather boots. John could feel the stranger's eyes steadily upon him.Then Whiston turned from the window."Captain Gilbert," he said, "has been here. He has made certain statements on your behalf which are so far satisfactory."A silence fell; the stranger moved to Sir Robert's desk, seated himself in Sir Robert's chair, and beckoned John to a chair opposite.Dacent Smith was the head of a great branch of the Secret Intelligence Department, but there was no air of authority in his manner."Sit down, please," he said. His voice was smooth and agreeable. He glanced at the window, then again at John."Will you kindly tell me the name of your officer in command at Scarthoe Fort?"John promptly gave him the name."How many men were in the fort?" The quiet gentleman, who possessed one of the subtlest brains in England, glanced at a slip of paper on his desk. He was putting John through an examination such as many a suspected person had failed to survive."One hundred and fifty, sir—eighty at the lower fort and seventy at the upper, exclusive of officers.""Can you recollect the calibre of the guns?"John gave the exact dimensions of the guns at both the lower and upper fort."Can you possibly recollect," inquired the other, "from your books, what store of six-inch ammunition there was?"Fortunately John recollected the number of shells exactly."I see," commented the cross-examiner. "But your statement doesn't tally with my present knowledge.""I am speaking of six weeks ago, sir; since then there would have been a heavy gun practice," John added promptly.The elder gentleman leaned back in his chair."These are all details which a spy would make a great point of observing." He looked steadily into John's face, until John became conscious of nothing but his keen, grey eyes. They were kindly eyes, but the intensity of his glance was something that John had never before experienced. He looked back frankly into the elder man's face."I suppose they are, sir," he answered, "but they came to me in my ordinary course of work.""How many fort candles were there in the storeroom?" asked the other, casually."Eight dozen, sir."Dacent Smith nodded, as though satisfied."We will now come to another matter," he said. "You were educated in Germany?"John admitted the fact."Have you been in Germany since your boyhood?""Never, sir.""What is your opinion of Captain Gilbert?""I took a great liking to him.""You trusted him when he asked you to assume another man's identity?""Absolutely, sir.""So do I," said Dacent Smith, suddenly changing his tone. "I trust him absolutely. I will only try your patience just one moment longer." He pushed a clean slip of paper towards John. "Would you mind writing on that these three words, 'Deceive,' 'parallel,' and 'nursery.' Just scribble them quickly, without care."John wrote the words and handed them across the table. The elder man took the sheet and immediately compared it with Treves's incriminating letter, and a pile of other letters in Treves's handwriting, which lay beside him.He glanced up at the General, who stood near the window."The handwriting is totally unlike, General. Moreover, our young friend here can spell the words, whereas, from letters supplied us by Gilbert, Treves could not." He turned again and looked at John. Then he broke into a smile that John found charming."Well, Manton," he said, "you have come through the ordeal excellently. But as a matter of formality you must be identified both by Captain Gilbert and your adjutant from Scarthoe Head.""Thank you, sir," answered John. "I am sorry to have caused so much trouble.""No, not at all," protested the elder man. "Your desire for adventure placed you in a very nasty position. But such trouble as you have caused us may yet be turned to good account."John hesitated a moment, then ventured:"If I may, sir, I would like to make a statement in regard to the man Manners, at 208, St. George's Square, I am certain he is a spy, sir—a German spy.""My dear Manton," said Dacent Smith, laying his hands on the desk, "we know that already.""And the other man," continued John, "Cherriton. I don't believe he is all he pretends to be."At the mention of Cherriton the lightness of mood vanished from the elder man."What name?" he inquired."Captain Cherriton, the man with the fair hair, who was in the taxi with me. The police officers allowed him to escape."Beyond the table the great man of the Secret Service who had been cross-examining him, eased his spectacles. For, without knowing it, John had made a statement which aroused all his interest."This afternoon, Manton," he said, "you must come to my room. It seems to me," he continued, "you can be of very great use to my department.""What is your department, sir?" asked John politely.The elder man smiled."I think we need not give it a name, Manton. But perhaps you can guess. Perhaps, indeed, you are destined to make further acquaintance with my department and with your friend, Mr. Manners." He paused a moment."Captain Gilbert tells me that you wish to rejoin the army?""That is so, sir," answered John."An excellent intention," continued Dacent Smith. "But it has occurred to me that there is other work of national importance which may suit you better." He glanced at Whiston. "With General Whiston's aid I think we can arrange that you do not appear in uniform for some time. Another thing Captain Gilbert reported to me," he went on, quietly, "is that you are a young man with a taste for adventure."John smiled.Dacent Smith extended his hand in farewell. "You are a free man, Manton. But I shall expect you to come to my rooms at 286, Jermyn Street at three o'clock this afternoon." He gave John a card. "You will give this to my servant at the door."The card read: "Mr. Dacent Smith, Savile Club"—that and nothing more.* * * * *At the time when John was undergoing his cross-examination at the hands of the great Dacent Smith, Manners and Captain Cherriton were seated in a back room at a house in Hampstead. Cherriton, who had read half a dozen morning papers, glanced at his companion."There is no word in any of them about our friend Treves.""There was scarcely time for an announcement," Manners answered. "Perhaps it will be in the evening papers."The two men waited till evening, but still the papers contained no line about Treves's capture. Cherriton was still not sure on what charge Treves had been arrested. If the charge had been an ordinary one, other than treason, there would already have been an account of some kind."We must find out some other way than through the papers.""I have an excellent way of finding out," observed Manners."Well, put it into execution at once," returned his superior.Manners looked at his watch."That way won't do until after six o'clock. After six o'clock, Herr Baron, I will take you into the presence of the most beautiful girl in England.""I do not admire English beauty," answered Rathenau, caustically.Manners lifted his hands."Ah, but this one, she is wonderful!""How will she know about Treves, any more than we do?"Manners looked across at him."Leave that to me," he said, "I can assure you she will know." He took out his pocket-book and looked up an address. "If we go now," he said, "we shall get there a little after six, in time to interview the lady on her return from business."Half an hour later a taxi sped along Kentish Town Road and turned into Bowles Avenue, Camden Town. The street was a particularly respectable one, with windows and doors freshly painted. Judging from the cleanliness of the curtains and the brightness of the door handles, the inhabitants of this thoroughfare each took a pride in his residence.The taxi containing Manners and Cherriton drew to a halt before the door of No. 65. Cherriton paid the driver and dismissed him. The two men crossed the pavement, and Manners lifted the bright brass knocker. Three times Manners knocked.He was that day attired with particular smartness in a grey, soft felt hat, a grey frock-coat, and light fawn linen gaiters. The Baron was wearing a navy-blue suit, made for him at the Army and Navy Stores. He also wore a grey felt hat, set well back on his head. In his hip pocket he carried a Mauser pistol, but this was always part of his apparel, as it were. Manners carried other little aids to his personal safety. But upon that evening their mission was pacific. They had only a desire to ask a certain lady if she had news of Treves.Three times Manners applied the knocker; then footsteps came rapidly along the passage. The door was opened by a tall, brown-haired girl, wearing a white blouse and blue skirt, both of which Cherriton noticed were well cut. The girl's complexion was not pale, yet tended towards pallor. Her cheeks were softly rounded, her chin small, yet firm. Her eyes were grey, frank and steady in gaze. Cherriton, noticing her long, curved lashes and finely-arched brows, conceded that here, for once, he was looking upon a truly beautiful English woman."Good evening," Manners was saying. He had lifted his hat with extreme politeness."Good evening," responded the girl, looking with puzzled eyes from one man to the other."You have no doubt forgotten me," Manners spoke again, and then a faint recognition came to the girl's eyes."Oh, not at all," she said. "Will you come in?" She led the way to a little parlour, a bright little apartment, where she lived alone. She had made it as pretty and comfortable as possible with her small means.The two Germans entered the room, and Manners closed the door. After some preliminary conversation he broached the subject of his visit, but artfully and cunningly hiding it in a veil of words."I have some business, madam," he said, "with"—he paused a moment—"with Mr. Treves. I have lost his address; I wonder if you could give it me?"The girl looked at him a moment; an expression of reserve came into her face."I am afraid I cannot oblige you," she said."You have heard from him lately?"The girl hesitated a moment, and pushed back the fine brown hair from her brow."Not lately," she answered."You will be seeing him again shortly, no doubt?" pursued Manners, smiling amicably."I don't know," said the girl. "I am afraid," she said, "I cannot give you his address, and if that is all you wish to see me about——" She rose quite politely, but firmly. And as she did so some one lifted the knocker of the front door and smote it thrice.Manners started visibly."You have visitors?" he asked quickly."I don't know who it can be," said the girl. "I am expecting no one."Manners sprang up and stood between her and the door. He looked into her face as she came towards him, then moved politely away. He felt that her candid eyes held no secrets.When the door had closed he turned to Cherriton."She has heard nothing of him; she knows no more than we do.""She is a beautiful woman, I'll admit," said Cherriton, who had been deep in thought. He raised his strong, supple hand and pointed towards the door. "Just open that," he said quietly, "and see who it is who is coming to visit her."Manners, with his usual swiftness of step and dexterity of movement, approached the door and noiselessly drew it open. Quietly he put his head out and looked along the passage. Then he drew back and gently closed the door. His face, when he turned towards Cherriton, was deathly white."Who is it?" demanded Cherriton, who had come swiftly to his feet."Bernard Treves!" answered Manners, moistening his lips with his tongue. The thought that Treves had betrayed them blazed through his mind.In an instant Cherriton sprang to the window and peered furtively up and down the street."He's alone," he said, with a note of relief in his voice."Gott in Himmel!" exclaimed Manners under his breath. "How did he get here?""Either escaped or acquitted," answered Cherriton, curtly. "Our business," he went on swiftly, under his breath, "is to express great delight when we see him. In the meantime I'll compose myself with a cigarette.""I don't know why his coming back like this should make me feel so nervous," mused Manners. "I am more psychic than you are, Herr Baron."Cherriton looked at the big, fat figure in the chair opposite him. He curled his lip in faint contempt.Meanwhile John Manton, having knocked at the door of 65, Bowles Avenue, found, to his astonishment, that that door was opened by a girl of most extreme beauty. He had come there under orders from Dacent Smith to discover the identity of the sender of the telegram signed "Elaine." He had been given many instructions during that afternoon, but as he stood upon the threshold of No. 65 a swift admiration leapt into his eyes for the girl who confronted him on the doorstep."May I come in?" asked John."Of course," answered the girl. To his amazement, she seized his hand as she spoke. "Oh, how long you have been!" she said. She drew him into the hall and closed the door. Silence and caution were the parts John had been ordered to play. He did not withdraw his hand from her warm grasp. "You never came, you never wrote," continued the girl."I wasn't able to," John answered, truthfully."And yet I told you, Bernard," she went on, looking up into his face—he was glad that the light in the hall was not intense—" and yet I told you, Bernard, that if you confessed everything to your father he would forgive.""He has forgiven a great deal," answered Manton, vaguely. He looked down at her—a little colour had come into her cheeks, and, as for her eyes, he had never seen eyes which evoked in him so much admiration. At that moment Manners put his face out at the door of the inner room; then swiftly withdrew it."Who's that?" John asked, quickly."It's a man who has come to see you, Bernard; but before you go in I want to say"—she laid her hand softly on the lapel of John's coat—"I want to say, Bernard, that I forgive you—everything." She was smiling at him, a smile of wonderful beauty. "After all, Bernard," she whispered, "I am your wife, and it is a wife's privilege to forgive.""Yes," answered John. He could think of nothing else to say. Here was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, holding his hand warmly in hers, and telling him she forgave him everything. The situation would have been delightful if he had only been the other man!"Bernard, for my sake, you will try, won't you?" She paused, and this time he was obliged to frame some sort of answer."I'll do the best I can," he said, lamely, then added, to turn the subject, "Who is your visitor?""It's Mr. Manners, the big, stout man you brought here a long while ago. He has a friend with him, a younger man.""Captain Cherriton?" asked John, lowering his voice.The girl nodded."They came to ask where you were, and wanted your address, but I remembered what you told me and would not give it."Then for the first time John looked keenly into her face. He had never seen her in his life before, and at any moment she might recognise him. But even with that danger hovering over him he could not help wondering if she loved Treves."Come, Bernard"; she took his hand in hers. "You must see your friends and get rid of them."John walked with her along the narrow passage. At the door of the parlour the girl halted."When they are gone," she whispered, "I have whole heaps of things to tell you."She pushed open the door and followed John into the room.Manners, who was seated at the hearth, sprang up and rushed towards Manton."Come in! Come in!" he cried, drawing John forward. "It does my eyes good to see you again, eh, Captain Cherriton?"Baron Rathenau, who had also risen, enclosed Manton's fingers in his hard, cold grip. "I, too, am glad to see you," he said, fixing his eyes steadily on John's.CHAPTER VIIThings were not as they seemed. The situation in the little parlour was delicate in the extreme, and as John's gaze passed from the fat countenance of Manners to the cold forcefulness of Cherriton, whose strong hand but a moment ago gripped his own in greeting, he told himself that if he could creep from that situation with credit he could escape from anything. Both Cherriton's and Manners's welcome rang false. They were not pleased to see him. They were startled and puzzled, and Cherriton, at least, was more than puzzled. John knew that whatever occurred between himself and these two men must occur privately. Moreover, there was a second danger, which he knew to be ever present. The light in the bright little parlour was quite strong. The fact that he had dexterously placed his back to the window might not serve him for more than a few minutes. What if Elaine Treves suddenly discovered her mistake?Somehow the teeming possibilities of the moment gave steadiness to John's nerves. He thought of a plan, and put it into execution on the instant."Elaine," he said—he used her name for the first time, and as he spoke he took her slender hand in his grasp—"I have business to discuss with Captain Cherriton and Mr. Manners.""I promise we shall not keep your husband more than a few minutes," intervened Cherriton. "Yes, old Manwitz for once is right," he thought; "here is an Englishwoman possessed of beauty."He made across the room, intending politely to hold open the door for Elaine to pass out. John, however, was quicker, and as he held the door wide Elaine lifted her grey-blue, beautiful eyes and searched his. Her expression, John thought, was one of surprise—surprise at what?He closed the door, and instantly Cherriton laid a hand on his shoulder."Well," he demanded, "what happened to you last night.""You were present at the beginning of the happening," returned John."The four men were police officers, were they not?""Detectives from Scotland Yard. They took me there, cross-examined me, and discovered that a mistake had been made."Manners drew in a deep breath of relief."Ah—a—mistake!" he exclaimed.Cherriton, who was busy with a cigarette, looked at John under his brows. He had retreated to the hearth, and-was leaning with his back against the mantelshelf. "A very unpleasant incident for you, eh, Treves?" he inquired."Very," responded John."And my overcoat—my very excellent summer overcoat—what happened to that?"From the moment of John's appearance in the room he had been leading up to this question—had his overcoat been searched, had Treves's incriminating letter been discovered? It occurred to him that if John, immediately after his arrest, had established his identity no search of his overcoat was probable. And yet caution was bred in him. His deeply subtle mind prompted him to probe the matter to its depths, and at the same time to convey no suspicion of his anxiety to John."Cherriton, your overcoat is quite safe," John said quietly. "I left it on your behalf in the cloak-room at Charing Cross Station." He put his hand into his pocket and drew out the ticket. Cherriton took it from his extended fingers."I am particularly obliged to you, Treves," he said. "I have a special fondness for that overcoat? So the Scotland Yard people were for once mistaken.""Entirely," said John, with truth; "they mistook me for another man.""Were you made acquainted with the charges against the real person?" probed Cherriton."He was wanted for misappropriation of military funds."Both Manners and Cherriton exhibited increasing interest in the unknown culprit."You heard the person's name?""His name was John Manton. He was a sergeant at Scarthoe Fort.""That is in the Isle of Wight?""Yes," John answered; "that accounts for them seizing me—they traced me from the Isle of Wight."Cherriton and Manners exchanged glances; neither man felt at all comfortable. But Cherriton felt that he had pressed the matter enough. He suddenly assumed his air of bland amiability, but it sat ill on him."Well, Manners," he exclaimed, looking at his confrère, "you were mistaken—you assumed that our dear friend Treves had escaped, and were in a great fluster of anxiety on his behalf; whereas the little misfortune that occurred to him was all a mistake.""All a mistake," repeated John."And now, I think," Cherriton remarked, taking up his grey felt hat and denting it carefully with his hand, "I think we will not keep you from your wife any longer."For the second time that day he gripped John's hand in his, and John, looking back into his cold blue eyes, felt the steady, penetrating power of Cherriton's gaze."Here was a man," thought John, "used to command—a man possessed of exceptional powers of mind and physique. You are a daring fellow," thought John; "a subtle and cunning worker of evil, but for once in your life you are mistaken. I am not the man you think, either in name or in character."Then a singular thing happened to John. On the very instant when his fingers slid away from the other's touch a flaming instinct ran through him—a passionate impulse to leap upon the other's throat and squeeze the life out of him came upon him as a definite and conscious wish. Though he had known Cherriton only for two days, he felt a great hate swirl up in him against this serenely poised, potent enemy. Against Manners, whom he knew, and whom Dacent Smith knew to be a spy, he felt nothing of this. That afternoon he had been instructed well and thoroughly by Dacent Smith. Dacent Smith had talked much with him, drawing him out, subtly examining him as to his aspirations and his powers. And gradually, during the talk of that afternoon, Smith had come to realise that in John Manton he possessed a keen and highly-wrought weapon. Here was a young man who had fought for his country, who was willing to fight for it again in any circumstances. And long before the end of that interview the chief of a great branch of the Secret Service had laid his hand on John's arm."Manton," he had explained, "you were wasted as a sergeant at Scarthoe Head. There are big things awaiting you. You have fought the enemy in the open; from to-day you shall fight him in the dark. You will find him more tricky and subtle and dangerous than he was in France"—then he had paused a moment, looking at John. "Accidents sometimes happen, Manton, my boy!""One must be prepared for accidents," John had answered, quietly."I have lost two or three splendid fellows during the past year. I am telling you this," the chief resumed, "that you may remain always on your guard. Fate or Providence has placed you in a wonderful position with the aid of your acquaintance, Manwitz. I have the complete dossier in that cupboard over there." He pointed to a cabinet against the wall. "Your acquaintance with Manwitz gives you a splendid start. You will use it to acquire such information as will be useful to the Department, but in the first place you must discover all there is to know about the amiable and unexpected Cherriton. We shall at the same time be working to discover things from our end."John thought of this conversation as Manners and Cherriton took their departure."You will come and see me again soon, will you not?" Manners had remarked at the moment of departure. He looked cunningly and meaningly into John's eyes. In effect he had been saying: "You will come and see me again immediately those cocaine tabloids have been consumed." Bernard Treves's craving for cocaine, both Manners and Cherriton knew, held that young man as by bonds of steel."I'll come again soon," John had answered, slipping the new address Manners had given him into his waistcoat pocket. He watched the two men pass into the street, then closed the door, and re-entered the empty parlour. The daintiness, the cleanliness, and the perfect taste of the little apartment had already won his appreciation. He wondered when Elaine Treves would descend from above, and what would happen then. Until now only a few fleeting words had passed between himself and the beautiful girl who was Treves's wife. What was to happen now in the intimacy that would ensue when she re-entered the room?John was smoking one of Treves's cigarettes, with his back against the mantelshelf, when the door opened and Elaine quietly entered."So you have got rid of them, Bernard?"She looked at him, he thought, a little shyly, with something of reserve in her glance. He watched her as she crossed to a chintz-covered wicker arm-chair, with its back to the window. At her side was a small work-table. She took out a needle, a thread, and various bits of coloured silk. A silence drew itself out that became awkward. John moved from one foot to another; then he made an effort to pick up the thread of what he believed to be Treves's life in relation to the girl who was so industriously sewing, with bowed head."I am sorry I wasn't able to come in answer to your wire.""I think, Bernard, you might have answered it," returned Elaine, quietly, without raising her head."Well, you know, I was not able to. Circumstances did not permit me to answer it.""I was afraid of that."She suddenly looked up at him with an expression of hopelessness in her fine eyes."Bernard," she said, "sometimes I think you will never, never be able to keep your promise to me!""Why not?" John asked, feeling his way cautiously. He could see that she was stirred, that something had moved her deeply. He was more than ever assured of this when she rose, stood before him, and looked steadily into his face."Oh! Bernard, if you could only, only fight!"Under the close scrutiny of her eyes John felt extraordinarily uncomfortable."Other people have fought and have conquered," went on the girl. "Why should not you? Sometimes," she went on, "you are quite as you should be, just as you are now—the man who once won my love. And then, again——" She broke off.Accidentally John had put his fingers in his waistcoat pocket. He felt the contact of the little bottle of cocaine tabloids Manners had forced upon him. He had guessed that Elaine was referring to Treves's enslavement to this drug, and he drew out the bottle, holding it in the palm of his hand. He saw the girl look at the tabloids with an expression of loathing; then something seemed to pass through her that drew her rigid and erect."I wonder," she said, "in our very short months together, how often you have promised, have sworn, to give it up!" Her manner suddenly changed again, and she held out her hand imploringly. "I wonder, Bernard, if you have the courage to give them to me?""Certainly," John said, "I will give them to you!"He unscrewed the top of the little bottle, and poured the white tabloids one after another into the palm of her hand. She looked at them for a moment, then into his face. John was still standing with his back towards the small fire. He felt the girl's hand on his arm; she was thrusting him aside. A moment later she had flung the tabloids into the red embers, and before John knew it she was holding his hand in hers, looking up into his face."Bernard," she said, in a low voice, "I believe—I believe you have changed! I think strength is coming to you—you will win yet!""Yes," John answered, "I swear I'll win."The words came from him almost without volition, and at the same moment an instinct came to him that matters were drifting too far. He turned the conversation with a laugh, and for some minutes they were discussing general topics. He helped her to prepare the supper, going into the little kitchen and bringing out plates and dishes, under her direction.Daylight faded, much to John's relief. They took supper together in the little parlour; John noticed how deft and womanly she was."Our friend Treves is a lucky man, if he only knew it," thought he."I am afraid there is nothing to drink, Bernard.""That doesn't trouble me," John answered; then saw her pause with the teapot uplifted in frank surprise. "I mean," said John, striving to recover the situation, "if you haven't got it, I don't mind."The meal passed off in an air of general cheerfulness. Elaine's little clock struck nine, and when the meal was at an end John took the seat opposite Elaine and her little work-basket. She busied herself with her fancy-work, and occasionally John caught her eyes resting upon him with a thoughtful and somewhat puzzled expression. He strove to gather from her manner what her feelings really were towards her husband. "She can't love him," thought John; "he's too much of a brute and a waster for that. And yet women are strange creatures."Elaine had been silent for some minutes, but presently she spoke, uttering something that appeared to have dwelt for long in her mind."Bernard," she said, "I am not so hard as you think, but I am sure the way I am acting is the only right way." She paused."I am sure it is the right way," answered John, looking into her candid, girlish face.He noticed again the flicker of surprise. He was always making false steps. The situation was difficult beyond everything he had experienced. Dacent Smith had impressed upon him the importance of tact and finesse. Here was a situation thrust upon him requiring abundance of both."You seem to have changed your point of view?""Well——" John began, cautiously."You were so violent with me," interposed Elaine."There was no intention on my part to be anything of the sort towards you," John answered.He wondered what Treves had done, what Treves had said. He began to experience pleasure in the situation; he began to wonder what was to happen next. But very soon after that the clock struck ten.Elaine put away her needlework and rose somewhat abruptly."You must go now, Bernard."John looked at her for a moment in surprise."Oh, yes," he said, "I see—of course."Then Elaine crossed the hearthrug and laid her slender hands on the lapels of his coat."To-night, Bernard," she said, "I have almost felt as if you were your old self again.""Thanks," answered John, awkwardly; his position at that moment was awkward and utterly false; he was like a man who walks blindly on the edge of a precipice. He wondered if she was about to kiss him, or if she expected him to salute her in that way. This doubt was still upon him when Elaine reached up and touched his cheeks lightly with her lips. There was no passion, no love—nothing but a sort of sisterly affection in the embrace, but John was glad when it was over. If she had been a less beautiful woman the situation would have been so very much easier.Elaine accompanied him along the passage, handing him his hat and stick as they went. In the darkness at the door, as they shook hands, John felt that the impression of her fingers was warmer and infinitely more cordial that the greeting she had given him upon his arrival. He could see her face only dimly. She had seemed surprised that he had departed so easily; he felt that he must say something, utter some remark that possibly might have been uttered by Bernard Treves."I am sorry to have to go," he said.Then Elaine's voice came to him quietly in the darkness. There was a new note in her words."You must come again—soon, Bernard."The door closed softly, and she was gone.CHAPTER VIIIDacent Smith, busy in his luxurious bachelor apartments in Jermyn Street, was going through a pile of documents, all relating directly or indirectly to the multitudinous activities of his department. He had continued his work for, perhaps, half an hour after his brief luncheon interval when the man-servant entered and announced a visitor. Dacent Smith's man-servant was discretion itself. He looked like a walking secret, and was a big, pallid man, with high cheek-bones and a grim, hard mouth. He was devoted body and soul to Dacent Smith, and no tortures ever devised could have ever wormed a word from him of his master's activities."Well, Grew?""Mr. Treves, sir.""I'll see Mr. Treves at once."Grew, the man-servant, departed, and a minute later John was ushered into the apartment.Dacent Smith greeted him with brief cordiality, then indicated a chair."Well, Treves," he said, with a smile, "what is your news?""There is very little to tell you, sir, so far. The person who wrote that telegram signed 'Elaine,' is Bernard Treves's wife!"Dacent Smith lifted his eyebrows; a twinkle of humour was detectable in his expression."What happened?""She was quite deceived, sir!""A piquant situation," smiled Dacent Smith."Very!" answered John, seriously."You see how quickly you find yourself in deep waters, my friend." Dacent Smith was looking at him with an expression of raillery in his keen eyes. Nevertheless he was saying inwardly: "I like you, Manton; you are a man after my own heart. There is a good deal of humour, as well as courage and intelligence, hidden behind that good-looking face of yours.""Now, Manton," he said, "tell me about Manwitz. Are you in touch with him again?""I have his address, sir, and an invitation to go to him whenever I wish—that is, whenever the cocaine habit seizes me violently.""I see," remarked the elder man. "Whenever the craving is violently upon you, you go to Manwitz and he supplies your want?"John nodded."It is amazing," went on the chief, "the way these fellows manage to secure these drugs. Perhaps, later, Manton, you will be able to enlighten us upon that little matter; but in the meantime Cherriton is your chief responsibility.""Cherriton showed a particular anxiety about his overcoat, sir, containing Treves's letter."John gave a brief report of the events of the previous evening, and Dacent Smith made one or two notes on a slip of paper marked M. 15.When John had finished, the elder man leaned back in his chair."It will take you some days—perhaps weeks," he said, "to get the hang of things with us. At present you are to play a lone hand. There is a chain of German emissaries working against us—some traitors and some spies—who pass information from all our dockyards to London, and thence to Germany. I want you to get into contact with one of the links of this chain—any link will serve our purpose. You must do all you can to keep the confidence of Cherriton and Manwitz. If they set you upon any task, carry it through absolutely. If papers or documents are given to you to be delivered elsewhere, don't fail to act absolutely according to their instructions. If you can get a sight of the documents, and memorise them during transit, do so, of course. This applies to letters or documents which may be handed to you by strangers—other German spies. Do you understand the importance of all this?"John assured him that he did."It appears to me, sir," he added, "that by doing this I shall myself become a sort of link in their chain."The great man looked at him with eyes of approbation."Exactly," he responded; "that is what you will be. Information is leaking out of England day by day, hour by hour—rippling along these chains of which I speak."Half an hour later, John took his departure from the chief's sumptuous bachelor apartments. He had learned many things that amazed him, and one of these things, which filled him with fury and loathing, was that there were indeed traitors in unexpected places, that there were British-born people, few, but active, who were willing to sell their country into the power of the enemy."I hope it won't be my destiny to run across one of these gentry," thought John; "for even the chief himself would find it hard to make me keep my hands off him."And yet that night, in a few brief hours, he was to find himself in contact with just such a traitor.Reaching the corner of Jermyn Street, after his departure from Dacent Smith's rooms, John hailed a taxi and drove to Hampstead Tube at Tottenham Court Road. Here he took train to Hampstead, and made his way towards the address Manwitz had given him. The address was Cherriton's, and when John arrived there he found that the unamiable captain occupied a suite of rooms in a large, old-fashioned house near the Heath. The house was maintained by a retired butler, who received John at the door. The butler ascended to a handsomely furnished, spacious drawing-room on the first floor. Here Manners was seated at a grand piano, and Cherriton, deep in an arm-chair, was reading an English Pacifist pamphlet."Is that a telegram?" asked Cherriton, as the door opened."No, sir," answered the man; "it is a Mr. Bernard Treves called in to see Mr. Manners."Two minutes later John stepped into the room."Did you get your overcoat?" he asked, shaking hands with Cherriton.The fair man nodded."Many thanks," he said.He had spent the earlier part of that day inquiring into the existence, status, and habits of John Manton. He was still not quite satisfied as to his visitor's release from Scotland Yard, and at that very moment he was awaiting a telegram from the Isle of Wight which would either increase his suspicions or remove them altogether. In the meantime, he preferred to trust John to a certain extent."You have come at an opportune time, Treves," he said.John was seated now, and this time accepted a cigarette from the Baron's case. Suddenly, Rathenau looked him full in the face."You and I, Treves," he said, "have both been treated damnably!""Damnably!" answered John, wondering what was coming. The other continued:"But there comes a time, Treves, eh, when the worm turns? You turned and I turned! You cast in your lot with our friend Manners, who knows how to appreciate loyalty! Manners," he continued, in the ironical tone that was his general habit, "fat and stupid and lazy as he is, is always willing to pay for loyalty!"John looked into the Baron's thick-skinned, pallid face, into the steel-like eyes, and smiled inwardly. A pause came. John leaned forward."Cherriton," he said, "what are you leading up to?"Manners, from the piano-stool, spoke up."Ah, you see, Cherriton—he is sharp, our friend Treves. Tell him what you want, Cherriton, straight out!"He rose, came, for all his great bulk, softly across the room. He laid a fat hand on John's shoulder and looked down at him."Bernard," he half whispered, "you shall have all you want of everything. Money—and the other thing. I want you to throw in your lot with me as the good Captain has done. That note," he continued, still in the half whisper, "you gave me in regard to the sailing of thePolydorwas well appreciated in certain circles.""I am glad to hear that," John answered."That was good service," continued Manners, "but there are bigger things afoot." He paused a moment, then walked round John, and seated himself on a sofa quite near. "You have heard, no doubt," he continued, "of theImperator——""You mean the new Grey Star liner?"Manners nodded."A monster ship—a wonder ship! Forty-eight thousand tons."He uttered the words slowly, rolling them unctuously over his tongue."Nearly as big as theVaterland," John said, and for the life of him he could not help looking across at Cherriton's face.But Cherriton was quick as lightning."TheVaterland?" he repeated. "You mean the German ship?"John returned his attention to Manners. He could feel the web closing about him—the web in which Dacent Smith had ordered him to entangle himself."TheImperator," said Manners, "is to sail one day quite soon, but your Admiralty has grown doubly cunning of late. As yet we know not either her port of departure or the hour of departure!"John noticed that the fat man's tones deepened as he spoke; excitement gleamed in his eyes. He leaned forward and laid a fat hand on Bernard's knee."Treves, my boy, I trust you—eh?""Certainly!" answered John, truthfully. "I want you to trust me.""Good!" exclaimed Manners, uttering the word thickly in his throat. "Now, you will understand Cherriton and I cannot appear in certain places, but with you—it is different with you—eh?""Quite," said John. "I can appear anywhere without suspicion."Cherriton, who had remained silent, again took control of the situation."What Manners and I want you to do," he said, "is to stay a few days at the Savoy Hotel. A Dutch gentleman is giving up Room 104C. You are to take that room, and stay at the hotel at Manners's expense.""Thank you," said John."There will be no need for you to stint yourself. What is more, you will have no duties whatever to perform!"John lifted his eyebrows in genuine surprise."I don't quite see what help I can be in that case!""We are hoping that the matter will resolve itself," said Cherriton."Yes—yes!" intervened Manners, "everything will resolve itself beautifully. All you have to do now, my dear boy, is to say that you accept the——""The invitation," intercepted Cherriton.John thought there was nothing easier in the world than to accept an invitation to stay, free of expense, at a first-class hotel, and with no duties to perform. He said as much to Manners, and two nights later found him the occupant of the room 1046, a delightful Louis Seize bedroom overlooking the Embankment. He had spent a day and a night at the hotel, and no incident whatever had occurred. On the evening of the second night, however, after dinner, John seated himself in the foyer and ordered coffee and cigarettes.Presently, in the great crowd moving, laughing and talking near him, John observed a politician who at various periods in the past had loomed importantly in the public eye."He is even more ugly than his photographs," thought John, watching the important personage move among his friends. John did not like Beecher Monmouth's smile; altogether he disliked the man on the instant, and was the more astonished to notice that a strikingly beautiful woman of thirty, wearing a glittering diamond necklace and diamond ear-rings, moved towards him and slipped her arm through his. The woman wore a deeply decollété evening dress of a shimmering silk that looked to John now green and now blue. He noticed her flash a smile into Beecher Monmouth's face. He saw the politician put her hand into his. Then recollection came to John. The woman was Beecher Monmouth's wife, a beautiful woman thirty years his junior, who had appeared from nowhere and married him."She certainly is a beautiful woman," thought John. "A case of Beauty and the Beast!"Then, to his utter amazement, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's eyes met his. She slid her arm from her husband's, and made her way quickly through the crowd to John. He felt his heart-beat quicken. A moment later Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was holding out her hand towards him. She flashed a smile into his face."My dear Mr. Treves," she said, in a voice that was low and intimate, "I have been looking for you all the evening!"A moment later she was shaking hands with John."I must fly now," she added, "but you must come and see me to-morrow—six o'clock."A moment later she was hurrying back towards her husband, her gown shimmering and gleaming as she went. There was something in the palm of John's hand—something that had passed from Mrs. Beecher Monmouth to himself.Holding his hand below the table and free from observation, John saw that the something Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had passed into his hand was a slip of paper on which was pencilled: "Imperator—three o'clock to-morrow. Route 28."John was conscious of a quite definite thrill. His nerve was of the best; he had accepted the momentous slip of paper without any outward sign of disturbance. Indeed, he had smiled back into Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's eyes in a manner that had won that lady's sincerest approbation. Nevertheless, he was not inwardly calm. He felt that fate, or destiny, had seized him suddenly in its relentless grip. The slip of paper was still in his right hand, concealed beneath the level of the table. For some minutes he drew at his cigarette, then, carefully taking out the pocket-book, laid the slip in its leaves, and replaced the book in the inner breast pocket of his coat. For some minutes longer he retained his seat, leaning back in the delicate gilt chair. His gaze wandered among the brilliant and fashionable crowd moving about him. The gentle murmur of music mingled still with the chatter of voices, and twenty feet away he caught the gleam of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's ear-rings, the scintillation of her superb diamond necklace. She was talking to her yellow-skinned and unprepossessing husband, but her attention was entirely and solely fixed upon John.Their eyes met, and John was obliged to concede, for the second time, that she was a woman of exceptional beauty. The art of her coiffeur, and, possibly, the art of her complexion expert, had wrought its best for her. Nevertheless, she would have stood out among any assemblage of young and prepossessing women. Her husband quite visibly adored her, and every word she condescended to transmit to him was received with a quick, responsive smile on his part.John was thinking rapidly, wondering and speculating. Was it possible that Beecher Monmouth knew of the existence of the little slip of paper that reposed in his pocket-book? Beecher Monmouth, who had sat on numerous committees, who had more than once stood in the running for an under-secretaryship? The thing seemed utterly incredible!As these things flashed through John's mind, realisation slowly came to him that Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was observing him with close intensity, under slightly lowered lids.John rose, and as he did so the lady flashed a brilliant smile towards him—an intimate, understanding smile, full of meaning."I wish I knew what you meant," thought John, as he made his way through the throng out towards the cloak-room.The circulating door received him, and he passed out into the dim light of the Strand. There was a crowd, as always at that hour, and a young man who followed closely at his heels found difficulty in keeping him in sight.John was burning once more to look at the information Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had conveyed to him. But caution forbade anything of the sort. He was determined that this, his first swim in deep waters, should achieve a successful issue. His chief desire in life was to make good in Dacent Smith's eyes, and, moreover, obeying his chief's instructions, he had already indelibly impressed upon his memory the portentous sentence: "Imperator—three o'clock to-morrow. Route 28."The word "treachery" floated into his mind, and filled him with rage. Until now he had been outside—one of the public. But to-night the curtain had been drawn aside. He felt himself engaged in the secret fight which is for ever taking place beneath the surface—the fight between our own secret service and the spies and traitors in the pay of the other nations.At Hampstead, John emerged from the Tube and made his way through the darkness of Well Walk. Presently he turned to the left, through an alley, crossed a square of shabby-looking houses, and ascended a further closely-built, narrow street, leading towards Cherriton's residence.The young man who had followed him from the Savoy was still in his wake. At this point, however, he apparently ceased his pursuit, and vanished up a side alley.John, who had been aware of footsteps for some minutes, halted and looked behind him. The road was empty, and the suspicion that had been growing on him vanished. Nevertheless, he laid a hand on his hip pocket, assured himself that he was prepared for eventualities and moved forward again."I'll give this nefarious bit of news to Cherriton, then hop down to Dacent Smith and report the fact as quickly as I can," thought John.He reached the top of Christ Church Road and paused to recollect which turning was the right one. At that moment some one moved in the shadow of the church railings near him, and before John could turn his head a doubled fist smote him heavily. The attack was so sudden, unexpected and swift that before he could in any way retaliate a second blow had been delivered.His assailant leaped through the air, clasped two strong hands round his neck, and fell into the road, still gripping for all he was worth.The two struggled ignominiously, and John became aware that the stranger, who had released one hand grip, was groping for the precious pocket-book. For the first time John was able to aim a blow, then, with a violent twist, he drew himself uppermost, and plunged his knee heavily into the other's chest. In the dim light he observed that his opponent was young. John was already aware that he had met no mean antagonist, and he was taking no chances.The downward blow he now delivered on the other man's countenance staggered him for a moment. He wrenched himself free and stood upright on his feet.His enemy was prone, but only for a moment."You've got a good deal of spirit, my young friend," said John, through his teeth, "but you'll get nothing from me, except another punch like the last! Now, get up!""Thanks," returned the other.He rose and began to dust his clothes carefully. John did not like the man's attitude. He was quite obviously preparing to make another attack."Now," commanded John, moving back a pace, "don't try that with me!"He stepped back and reached for the Colt weapon that reposed in his pocket."I should hate to do anything drastic," he continued; "but if you make it a habit to leap at people in the dark, and to aim half-arm jolts at strangers, you must take the consequences.""I am prepared to take anything that is coming to me!" responded the young man.He spoke almost jauntily, and John admired his spirit."I evidently did not hit you quite as hard as I thought," John remarked."Quite hard enough," responded the other, "but please don't shoot, because——"Then, to John's amazement, and with the utmost daring, he leapt forward like a flash and seized John's pistol. There was a swift, fierce struggle. The moment was one for quick decisions. The stranger held the weapon by the wrong end, and John knew it. Unexpectedly he let go, and simultaneously landed a heavy left on the young man's downbent jaw. He followed with a right, and then another left. He was as busy as he had ever been, and he knew he was fighting for his entire future, possibly for his life."I've had enough," gasped the stranger.He reeled away, and seated himself on the farther side of the narrow street.John searched about, picked up the weapon from the middle of the road and pocketed it. Then he buttoned his coat, after carefully satisfying himself that the pocket-book was still in its place, and prepared to go."Good night," called the other, seated on the edge of the pavement, as he went.Manton, however, was in no mood for persiflage. He took himself off, walking as swiftly as he could."He certainly doesn't lack pluck," mused John.Five minutes later he reached the large house wherein Cherriton had his abode."I want to see Captain Cherriton at once," he said, when the door was opened to him.He found Cherriton alone in the big drawing-room. He was in evening clothes, and was wearing comfortable house slippers."So it's you, Treves?" exclaimed the German as the door closed. "Come in, and I'll give you a drink of whisky; that is always acceptable, eh?""Always," answered John.Cherriton was looking at him intently."There is a slight cut on your forehead.""Is there? It must be a scratch."John applied his handkerchief to the slight abrasion, then slipped off his overcoat and took a drink of whisky and soda."I have some news for you, Cherriton.""News?"The other flashed a swift glance at him.John slowly drew out the pocket-book and produced the slip of paper."You wanted to know when theImperatorsailed out, and by what route."Cherriton was suddenly and unfeignedly impatient."What is it you know?" he demanded."At the Savoy to-night," John said quietly, "this was handed to me."He passed the slip of paper into the German's eager fingers."Gott!" exclaimed Cherriton, utterly absorbed. "You got this from——""Mrs. Beecher Monmouth."
CHAPTER VI
The moment the door closed upon John, General Whiston flung himself into a chair beside Sir Robert's table. There was an expression on his face that puzzled the Police Commissioner.
"Well, Sir Robert," began the General, "it is an amazing thing, but Captain Gilbert corroborates our prisoner's statements entirely."
Sir Robert flashed a glance at the incriminating letters on the table.
"That's impossible!"
"Nevertheless, Gilbert, who is a very sound officer, corroborates every word this young man has said. I have ordered Gilbert to present himself here first thing in the morning."
Sir Robert was staring in utter bewilderment.
"You mean we have got the wrong man?"
"I don't know," answered the General, impatiently; "the thing is beyond my capacity. I've known this young blackguard for years. Only slightly, of course, but I would have sworn to him anywhere. Gilbert, however, tells me an extraordinary story. He says our prisoner is a thoroughly honest fellow, by the name of Manton. He gave me a minute history of the man, who was formerly at Scarthoe Head. I have ordered the adjutant from Scarthoe to report himself here to-morrow. We can then get to the bottom of this extraordinary tangle."
"But," protested Sir Robert, "these letters must be explained; and you have had this man watched for months."
"Precisely; that complicates matters enormously."
"Was Treves guilty of the crimes laid against him, or was this man guilty?" inquired Sir Robert.
The General shook his head in bewilderment.
"Don't ask me; I don't know," he said, "to-morrow will settle everything."
The night that followed was the longest that John had ever spent. What if by some awful mischance Captain Gilbert disowned him entirely? However, he could not think that of Gilbert. He was prepared to swear by the Captain's honesty.
A police officer called him early next morning. He dressed and was served with a satisfactory breakfast. A morning newspaper was brought to him, but at ten o'clock he was peremptorily summoned to present himself in Sir Robert's room. Under escort he made his way along various passages. The door was opened and he stepped into the room and stood at attention.
Sir Robert was not present. General Whiston stood at the window, and near him was a sleek-looking, smooth-haired, clean shaven man in a morning coat, well cut trousers and patent leather boots. John could feel the stranger's eyes steadily upon him.
Then Whiston turned from the window.
"Captain Gilbert," he said, "has been here. He has made certain statements on your behalf which are so far satisfactory."
A silence fell; the stranger moved to Sir Robert's desk, seated himself in Sir Robert's chair, and beckoned John to a chair opposite.
Dacent Smith was the head of a great branch of the Secret Intelligence Department, but there was no air of authority in his manner.
"Sit down, please," he said. His voice was smooth and agreeable. He glanced at the window, then again at John.
"Will you kindly tell me the name of your officer in command at Scarthoe Fort?"
John promptly gave him the name.
"How many men were in the fort?" The quiet gentleman, who possessed one of the subtlest brains in England, glanced at a slip of paper on his desk. He was putting John through an examination such as many a suspected person had failed to survive.
"One hundred and fifty, sir—eighty at the lower fort and seventy at the upper, exclusive of officers."
"Can you recollect the calibre of the guns?"
John gave the exact dimensions of the guns at both the lower and upper fort.
"Can you possibly recollect," inquired the other, "from your books, what store of six-inch ammunition there was?"
Fortunately John recollected the number of shells exactly.
"I see," commented the cross-examiner. "But your statement doesn't tally with my present knowledge."
"I am speaking of six weeks ago, sir; since then there would have been a heavy gun practice," John added promptly.
The elder gentleman leaned back in his chair.
"These are all details which a spy would make a great point of observing." He looked steadily into John's face, until John became conscious of nothing but his keen, grey eyes. They were kindly eyes, but the intensity of his glance was something that John had never before experienced. He looked back frankly into the elder man's face.
"I suppose they are, sir," he answered, "but they came to me in my ordinary course of work."
"How many fort candles were there in the storeroom?" asked the other, casually.
"Eight dozen, sir."
Dacent Smith nodded, as though satisfied.
"We will now come to another matter," he said. "You were educated in Germany?"
John admitted the fact.
"Have you been in Germany since your boyhood?"
"Never, sir."
"What is your opinion of Captain Gilbert?"
"I took a great liking to him."
"You trusted him when he asked you to assume another man's identity?"
"Absolutely, sir."
"So do I," said Dacent Smith, suddenly changing his tone. "I trust him absolutely. I will only try your patience just one moment longer." He pushed a clean slip of paper towards John. "Would you mind writing on that these three words, 'Deceive,' 'parallel,' and 'nursery.' Just scribble them quickly, without care."
John wrote the words and handed them across the table. The elder man took the sheet and immediately compared it with Treves's incriminating letter, and a pile of other letters in Treves's handwriting, which lay beside him.
He glanced up at the General, who stood near the window.
"The handwriting is totally unlike, General. Moreover, our young friend here can spell the words, whereas, from letters supplied us by Gilbert, Treves could not." He turned again and looked at John. Then he broke into a smile that John found charming.
"Well, Manton," he said, "you have come through the ordeal excellently. But as a matter of formality you must be identified both by Captain Gilbert and your adjutant from Scarthoe Head."
"Thank you, sir," answered John. "I am sorry to have caused so much trouble."
"No, not at all," protested the elder man. "Your desire for adventure placed you in a very nasty position. But such trouble as you have caused us may yet be turned to good account."
John hesitated a moment, then ventured:
"If I may, sir, I would like to make a statement in regard to the man Manners, at 208, St. George's Square, I am certain he is a spy, sir—a German spy."
"My dear Manton," said Dacent Smith, laying his hands on the desk, "we know that already."
"And the other man," continued John, "Cherriton. I don't believe he is all he pretends to be."
At the mention of Cherriton the lightness of mood vanished from the elder man.
"What name?" he inquired.
"Captain Cherriton, the man with the fair hair, who was in the taxi with me. The police officers allowed him to escape."
Beyond the table the great man of the Secret Service who had been cross-examining him, eased his spectacles. For, without knowing it, John had made a statement which aroused all his interest.
"This afternoon, Manton," he said, "you must come to my room. It seems to me," he continued, "you can be of very great use to my department."
"What is your department, sir?" asked John politely.
The elder man smiled.
"I think we need not give it a name, Manton. But perhaps you can guess. Perhaps, indeed, you are destined to make further acquaintance with my department and with your friend, Mr. Manners." He paused a moment.
"Captain Gilbert tells me that you wish to rejoin the army?"
"That is so, sir," answered John.
"An excellent intention," continued Dacent Smith. "But it has occurred to me that there is other work of national importance which may suit you better." He glanced at Whiston. "With General Whiston's aid I think we can arrange that you do not appear in uniform for some time. Another thing Captain Gilbert reported to me," he went on, quietly, "is that you are a young man with a taste for adventure."
John smiled.
Dacent Smith extended his hand in farewell. "You are a free man, Manton. But I shall expect you to come to my rooms at 286, Jermyn Street at three o'clock this afternoon." He gave John a card. "You will give this to my servant at the door."
The card read: "Mr. Dacent Smith, Savile Club"—that and nothing more.
* * * * *
At the time when John was undergoing his cross-examination at the hands of the great Dacent Smith, Manners and Captain Cherriton were seated in a back room at a house in Hampstead. Cherriton, who had read half a dozen morning papers, glanced at his companion.
"There is no word in any of them about our friend Treves."
"There was scarcely time for an announcement," Manners answered. "Perhaps it will be in the evening papers."
The two men waited till evening, but still the papers contained no line about Treves's capture. Cherriton was still not sure on what charge Treves had been arrested. If the charge had been an ordinary one, other than treason, there would already have been an account of some kind.
"We must find out some other way than through the papers."
"I have an excellent way of finding out," observed Manners.
"Well, put it into execution at once," returned his superior.
Manners looked at his watch.
"That way won't do until after six o'clock. After six o'clock, Herr Baron, I will take you into the presence of the most beautiful girl in England."
"I do not admire English beauty," answered Rathenau, caustically.
Manners lifted his hands.
"Ah, but this one, she is wonderful!"
"How will she know about Treves, any more than we do?"
Manners looked across at him.
"Leave that to me," he said, "I can assure you she will know." He took out his pocket-book and looked up an address. "If we go now," he said, "we shall get there a little after six, in time to interview the lady on her return from business."
Half an hour later a taxi sped along Kentish Town Road and turned into Bowles Avenue, Camden Town. The street was a particularly respectable one, with windows and doors freshly painted. Judging from the cleanliness of the curtains and the brightness of the door handles, the inhabitants of this thoroughfare each took a pride in his residence.
The taxi containing Manners and Cherriton drew to a halt before the door of No. 65. Cherriton paid the driver and dismissed him. The two men crossed the pavement, and Manners lifted the bright brass knocker. Three times Manners knocked.
He was that day attired with particular smartness in a grey, soft felt hat, a grey frock-coat, and light fawn linen gaiters. The Baron was wearing a navy-blue suit, made for him at the Army and Navy Stores. He also wore a grey felt hat, set well back on his head. In his hip pocket he carried a Mauser pistol, but this was always part of his apparel, as it were. Manners carried other little aids to his personal safety. But upon that evening their mission was pacific. They had only a desire to ask a certain lady if she had news of Treves.
Three times Manners applied the knocker; then footsteps came rapidly along the passage. The door was opened by a tall, brown-haired girl, wearing a white blouse and blue skirt, both of which Cherriton noticed were well cut. The girl's complexion was not pale, yet tended towards pallor. Her cheeks were softly rounded, her chin small, yet firm. Her eyes were grey, frank and steady in gaze. Cherriton, noticing her long, curved lashes and finely-arched brows, conceded that here, for once, he was looking upon a truly beautiful English woman.
"Good evening," Manners was saying. He had lifted his hat with extreme politeness.
"Good evening," responded the girl, looking with puzzled eyes from one man to the other.
"You have no doubt forgotten me," Manners spoke again, and then a faint recognition came to the girl's eyes.
"Oh, not at all," she said. "Will you come in?" She led the way to a little parlour, a bright little apartment, where she lived alone. She had made it as pretty and comfortable as possible with her small means.
The two Germans entered the room, and Manners closed the door. After some preliminary conversation he broached the subject of his visit, but artfully and cunningly hiding it in a veil of words.
"I have some business, madam," he said, "with"—he paused a moment—"with Mr. Treves. I have lost his address; I wonder if you could give it me?"
The girl looked at him a moment; an expression of reserve came into her face.
"I am afraid I cannot oblige you," she said.
"You have heard from him lately?"
The girl hesitated a moment, and pushed back the fine brown hair from her brow.
"Not lately," she answered.
"You will be seeing him again shortly, no doubt?" pursued Manners, smiling amicably.
"I don't know," said the girl. "I am afraid," she said, "I cannot give you his address, and if that is all you wish to see me about——" She rose quite politely, but firmly. And as she did so some one lifted the knocker of the front door and smote it thrice.
Manners started visibly.
"You have visitors?" he asked quickly.
"I don't know who it can be," said the girl. "I am expecting no one."
Manners sprang up and stood between her and the door. He looked into her face as she came towards him, then moved politely away. He felt that her candid eyes held no secrets.
When the door had closed he turned to Cherriton.
"She has heard nothing of him; she knows no more than we do."
"She is a beautiful woman, I'll admit," said Cherriton, who had been deep in thought. He raised his strong, supple hand and pointed towards the door. "Just open that," he said quietly, "and see who it is who is coming to visit her."
Manners, with his usual swiftness of step and dexterity of movement, approached the door and noiselessly drew it open. Quietly he put his head out and looked along the passage. Then he drew back and gently closed the door. His face, when he turned towards Cherriton, was deathly white.
"Who is it?" demanded Cherriton, who had come swiftly to his feet.
"Bernard Treves!" answered Manners, moistening his lips with his tongue. The thought that Treves had betrayed them blazed through his mind.
In an instant Cherriton sprang to the window and peered furtively up and down the street.
"He's alone," he said, with a note of relief in his voice.
"Gott in Himmel!" exclaimed Manners under his breath. "How did he get here?"
"Either escaped or acquitted," answered Cherriton, curtly. "Our business," he went on swiftly, under his breath, "is to express great delight when we see him. In the meantime I'll compose myself with a cigarette."
"I don't know why his coming back like this should make me feel so nervous," mused Manners. "I am more psychic than you are, Herr Baron."
Cherriton looked at the big, fat figure in the chair opposite him. He curled his lip in faint contempt.
Meanwhile John Manton, having knocked at the door of 65, Bowles Avenue, found, to his astonishment, that that door was opened by a girl of most extreme beauty. He had come there under orders from Dacent Smith to discover the identity of the sender of the telegram signed "Elaine." He had been given many instructions during that afternoon, but as he stood upon the threshold of No. 65 a swift admiration leapt into his eyes for the girl who confronted him on the doorstep.
"May I come in?" asked John.
"Of course," answered the girl. To his amazement, she seized his hand as she spoke. "Oh, how long you have been!" she said. She drew him into the hall and closed the door. Silence and caution were the parts John had been ordered to play. He did not withdraw his hand from her warm grasp. "You never came, you never wrote," continued the girl.
"I wasn't able to," John answered, truthfully.
"And yet I told you, Bernard," she went on, looking up into his face—he was glad that the light in the hall was not intense—" and yet I told you, Bernard, that if you confessed everything to your father he would forgive."
"He has forgiven a great deal," answered Manton, vaguely. He looked down at her—a little colour had come into her cheeks, and, as for her eyes, he had never seen eyes which evoked in him so much admiration. At that moment Manners put his face out at the door of the inner room; then swiftly withdrew it.
"Who's that?" John asked, quickly.
"It's a man who has come to see you, Bernard; but before you go in I want to say"—she laid her hand softly on the lapel of John's coat—"I want to say, Bernard, that I forgive you—everything." She was smiling at him, a smile of wonderful beauty. "After all, Bernard," she whispered, "I am your wife, and it is a wife's privilege to forgive."
"Yes," answered John. He could think of nothing else to say. Here was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, holding his hand warmly in hers, and telling him she forgave him everything. The situation would have been delightful if he had only been the other man!
"Bernard, for my sake, you will try, won't you?" She paused, and this time he was obliged to frame some sort of answer.
"I'll do the best I can," he said, lamely, then added, to turn the subject, "Who is your visitor?"
"It's Mr. Manners, the big, stout man you brought here a long while ago. He has a friend with him, a younger man."
"Captain Cherriton?" asked John, lowering his voice.
The girl nodded.
"They came to ask where you were, and wanted your address, but I remembered what you told me and would not give it."
Then for the first time John looked keenly into her face. He had never seen her in his life before, and at any moment she might recognise him. But even with that danger hovering over him he could not help wondering if she loved Treves.
"Come, Bernard"; she took his hand in hers. "You must see your friends and get rid of them."
John walked with her along the narrow passage. At the door of the parlour the girl halted.
"When they are gone," she whispered, "I have whole heaps of things to tell you."
She pushed open the door and followed John into the room.
Manners, who was seated at the hearth, sprang up and rushed towards Manton.
"Come in! Come in!" he cried, drawing John forward. "It does my eyes good to see you again, eh, Captain Cherriton?"
Baron Rathenau, who had also risen, enclosed Manton's fingers in his hard, cold grip. "I, too, am glad to see you," he said, fixing his eyes steadily on John's.
CHAPTER VII
Things were not as they seemed. The situation in the little parlour was delicate in the extreme, and as John's gaze passed from the fat countenance of Manners to the cold forcefulness of Cherriton, whose strong hand but a moment ago gripped his own in greeting, he told himself that if he could creep from that situation with credit he could escape from anything. Both Cherriton's and Manners's welcome rang false. They were not pleased to see him. They were startled and puzzled, and Cherriton, at least, was more than puzzled. John knew that whatever occurred between himself and these two men must occur privately. Moreover, there was a second danger, which he knew to be ever present. The light in the bright little parlour was quite strong. The fact that he had dexterously placed his back to the window might not serve him for more than a few minutes. What if Elaine Treves suddenly discovered her mistake?
Somehow the teeming possibilities of the moment gave steadiness to John's nerves. He thought of a plan, and put it into execution on the instant.
"Elaine," he said—he used her name for the first time, and as he spoke he took her slender hand in his grasp—"I have business to discuss with Captain Cherriton and Mr. Manners."
"I promise we shall not keep your husband more than a few minutes," intervened Cherriton. "Yes, old Manwitz for once is right," he thought; "here is an Englishwoman possessed of beauty."
He made across the room, intending politely to hold open the door for Elaine to pass out. John, however, was quicker, and as he held the door wide Elaine lifted her grey-blue, beautiful eyes and searched his. Her expression, John thought, was one of surprise—surprise at what?
He closed the door, and instantly Cherriton laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Well," he demanded, "what happened to you last night."
"You were present at the beginning of the happening," returned John.
"The four men were police officers, were they not?"
"Detectives from Scotland Yard. They took me there, cross-examined me, and discovered that a mistake had been made."
Manners drew in a deep breath of relief.
"Ah—a—mistake!" he exclaimed.
Cherriton, who was busy with a cigarette, looked at John under his brows. He had retreated to the hearth, and-was leaning with his back against the mantelshelf. "A very unpleasant incident for you, eh, Treves?" he inquired.
"Very," responded John.
"And my overcoat—my very excellent summer overcoat—what happened to that?"
From the moment of John's appearance in the room he had been leading up to this question—had his overcoat been searched, had Treves's incriminating letter been discovered? It occurred to him that if John, immediately after his arrest, had established his identity no search of his overcoat was probable. And yet caution was bred in him. His deeply subtle mind prompted him to probe the matter to its depths, and at the same time to convey no suspicion of his anxiety to John.
"Cherriton, your overcoat is quite safe," John said quietly. "I left it on your behalf in the cloak-room at Charing Cross Station." He put his hand into his pocket and drew out the ticket. Cherriton took it from his extended fingers.
"I am particularly obliged to you, Treves," he said. "I have a special fondness for that overcoat? So the Scotland Yard people were for once mistaken."
"Entirely," said John, with truth; "they mistook me for another man."
"Were you made acquainted with the charges against the real person?" probed Cherriton.
"He was wanted for misappropriation of military funds."
Both Manners and Cherriton exhibited increasing interest in the unknown culprit.
"You heard the person's name?"
"His name was John Manton. He was a sergeant at Scarthoe Fort."
"That is in the Isle of Wight?"
"Yes," John answered; "that accounts for them seizing me—they traced me from the Isle of Wight."
Cherriton and Manners exchanged glances; neither man felt at all comfortable. But Cherriton felt that he had pressed the matter enough. He suddenly assumed his air of bland amiability, but it sat ill on him.
"Well, Manners," he exclaimed, looking at his confrère, "you were mistaken—you assumed that our dear friend Treves had escaped, and were in a great fluster of anxiety on his behalf; whereas the little misfortune that occurred to him was all a mistake."
"All a mistake," repeated John.
"And now, I think," Cherriton remarked, taking up his grey felt hat and denting it carefully with his hand, "I think we will not keep you from your wife any longer."
For the second time that day he gripped John's hand in his, and John, looking back into his cold blue eyes, felt the steady, penetrating power of Cherriton's gaze.
"Here was a man," thought John, "used to command—a man possessed of exceptional powers of mind and physique. You are a daring fellow," thought John; "a subtle and cunning worker of evil, but for once in your life you are mistaken. I am not the man you think, either in name or in character."
Then a singular thing happened to John. On the very instant when his fingers slid away from the other's touch a flaming instinct ran through him—a passionate impulse to leap upon the other's throat and squeeze the life out of him came upon him as a definite and conscious wish. Though he had known Cherriton only for two days, he felt a great hate swirl up in him against this serenely poised, potent enemy. Against Manners, whom he knew, and whom Dacent Smith knew to be a spy, he felt nothing of this. That afternoon he had been instructed well and thoroughly by Dacent Smith. Dacent Smith had talked much with him, drawing him out, subtly examining him as to his aspirations and his powers. And gradually, during the talk of that afternoon, Smith had come to realise that in John Manton he possessed a keen and highly-wrought weapon. Here was a young man who had fought for his country, who was willing to fight for it again in any circumstances. And long before the end of that interview the chief of a great branch of the Secret Service had laid his hand on John's arm.
"Manton," he had explained, "you were wasted as a sergeant at Scarthoe Head. There are big things awaiting you. You have fought the enemy in the open; from to-day you shall fight him in the dark. You will find him more tricky and subtle and dangerous than he was in France"—then he had paused a moment, looking at John. "Accidents sometimes happen, Manton, my boy!"
"One must be prepared for accidents," John had answered, quietly.
"I have lost two or three splendid fellows during the past year. I am telling you this," the chief resumed, "that you may remain always on your guard. Fate or Providence has placed you in a wonderful position with the aid of your acquaintance, Manwitz. I have the complete dossier in that cupboard over there." He pointed to a cabinet against the wall. "Your acquaintance with Manwitz gives you a splendid start. You will use it to acquire such information as will be useful to the Department, but in the first place you must discover all there is to know about the amiable and unexpected Cherriton. We shall at the same time be working to discover things from our end."
John thought of this conversation as Manners and Cherriton took their departure.
"You will come and see me again soon, will you not?" Manners had remarked at the moment of departure. He looked cunningly and meaningly into John's eyes. In effect he had been saying: "You will come and see me again immediately those cocaine tabloids have been consumed." Bernard Treves's craving for cocaine, both Manners and Cherriton knew, held that young man as by bonds of steel.
"I'll come again soon," John had answered, slipping the new address Manners had given him into his waistcoat pocket. He watched the two men pass into the street, then closed the door, and re-entered the empty parlour. The daintiness, the cleanliness, and the perfect taste of the little apartment had already won his appreciation. He wondered when Elaine Treves would descend from above, and what would happen then. Until now only a few fleeting words had passed between himself and the beautiful girl who was Treves's wife. What was to happen now in the intimacy that would ensue when she re-entered the room?
John was smoking one of Treves's cigarettes, with his back against the mantelshelf, when the door opened and Elaine quietly entered.
"So you have got rid of them, Bernard?"
She looked at him, he thought, a little shyly, with something of reserve in her glance. He watched her as she crossed to a chintz-covered wicker arm-chair, with its back to the window. At her side was a small work-table. She took out a needle, a thread, and various bits of coloured silk. A silence drew itself out that became awkward. John moved from one foot to another; then he made an effort to pick up the thread of what he believed to be Treves's life in relation to the girl who was so industriously sewing, with bowed head.
"I am sorry I wasn't able to come in answer to your wire."
"I think, Bernard, you might have answered it," returned Elaine, quietly, without raising her head.
"Well, you know, I was not able to. Circumstances did not permit me to answer it."
"I was afraid of that."
She suddenly looked up at him with an expression of hopelessness in her fine eyes.
"Bernard," she said, "sometimes I think you will never, never be able to keep your promise to me!"
"Why not?" John asked, feeling his way cautiously. He could see that she was stirred, that something had moved her deeply. He was more than ever assured of this when she rose, stood before him, and looked steadily into his face.
"Oh! Bernard, if you could only, only fight!"
Under the close scrutiny of her eyes John felt extraordinarily uncomfortable.
"Other people have fought and have conquered," went on the girl. "Why should not you? Sometimes," she went on, "you are quite as you should be, just as you are now—the man who once won my love. And then, again——" She broke off.
Accidentally John had put his fingers in his waistcoat pocket. He felt the contact of the little bottle of cocaine tabloids Manners had forced upon him. He had guessed that Elaine was referring to Treves's enslavement to this drug, and he drew out the bottle, holding it in the palm of his hand. He saw the girl look at the tabloids with an expression of loathing; then something seemed to pass through her that drew her rigid and erect.
"I wonder," she said, "in our very short months together, how often you have promised, have sworn, to give it up!" Her manner suddenly changed again, and she held out her hand imploringly. "I wonder, Bernard, if you have the courage to give them to me?"
"Certainly," John said, "I will give them to you!"
He unscrewed the top of the little bottle, and poured the white tabloids one after another into the palm of her hand. She looked at them for a moment, then into his face. John was still standing with his back towards the small fire. He felt the girl's hand on his arm; she was thrusting him aside. A moment later she had flung the tabloids into the red embers, and before John knew it she was holding his hand in hers, looking up into his face.
"Bernard," she said, in a low voice, "I believe—I believe you have changed! I think strength is coming to you—you will win yet!"
"Yes," John answered, "I swear I'll win."
The words came from him almost without volition, and at the same moment an instinct came to him that matters were drifting too far. He turned the conversation with a laugh, and for some minutes they were discussing general topics. He helped her to prepare the supper, going into the little kitchen and bringing out plates and dishes, under her direction.
Daylight faded, much to John's relief. They took supper together in the little parlour; John noticed how deft and womanly she was.
"Our friend Treves is a lucky man, if he only knew it," thought he.
"I am afraid there is nothing to drink, Bernard."
"That doesn't trouble me," John answered; then saw her pause with the teapot uplifted in frank surprise. "I mean," said John, striving to recover the situation, "if you haven't got it, I don't mind."
The meal passed off in an air of general cheerfulness. Elaine's little clock struck nine, and when the meal was at an end John took the seat opposite Elaine and her little work-basket. She busied herself with her fancy-work, and occasionally John caught her eyes resting upon him with a thoughtful and somewhat puzzled expression. He strove to gather from her manner what her feelings really were towards her husband. "She can't love him," thought John; "he's too much of a brute and a waster for that. And yet women are strange creatures."
Elaine had been silent for some minutes, but presently she spoke, uttering something that appeared to have dwelt for long in her mind.
"Bernard," she said, "I am not so hard as you think, but I am sure the way I am acting is the only right way." She paused.
"I am sure it is the right way," answered John, looking into her candid, girlish face.
He noticed again the flicker of surprise. He was always making false steps. The situation was difficult beyond everything he had experienced. Dacent Smith had impressed upon him the importance of tact and finesse. Here was a situation thrust upon him requiring abundance of both.
"You seem to have changed your point of view?"
"Well——" John began, cautiously.
"You were so violent with me," interposed Elaine.
"There was no intention on my part to be anything of the sort towards you," John answered.
He wondered what Treves had done, what Treves had said. He began to experience pleasure in the situation; he began to wonder what was to happen next. But very soon after that the clock struck ten.
Elaine put away her needlework and rose somewhat abruptly.
"You must go now, Bernard."
John looked at her for a moment in surprise.
"Oh, yes," he said, "I see—of course."
Then Elaine crossed the hearthrug and laid her slender hands on the lapels of his coat.
"To-night, Bernard," she said, "I have almost felt as if you were your old self again."
"Thanks," answered John, awkwardly; his position at that moment was awkward and utterly false; he was like a man who walks blindly on the edge of a precipice. He wondered if she was about to kiss him, or if she expected him to salute her in that way. This doubt was still upon him when Elaine reached up and touched his cheeks lightly with her lips. There was no passion, no love—nothing but a sort of sisterly affection in the embrace, but John was glad when it was over. If she had been a less beautiful woman the situation would have been so very much easier.
Elaine accompanied him along the passage, handing him his hat and stick as they went. In the darkness at the door, as they shook hands, John felt that the impression of her fingers was warmer and infinitely more cordial that the greeting she had given him upon his arrival. He could see her face only dimly. She had seemed surprised that he had departed so easily; he felt that he must say something, utter some remark that possibly might have been uttered by Bernard Treves.
"I am sorry to have to go," he said.
Then Elaine's voice came to him quietly in the darkness. There was a new note in her words.
"You must come again—soon, Bernard."
The door closed softly, and she was gone.
CHAPTER VIII
Dacent Smith, busy in his luxurious bachelor apartments in Jermyn Street, was going through a pile of documents, all relating directly or indirectly to the multitudinous activities of his department. He had continued his work for, perhaps, half an hour after his brief luncheon interval when the man-servant entered and announced a visitor. Dacent Smith's man-servant was discretion itself. He looked like a walking secret, and was a big, pallid man, with high cheek-bones and a grim, hard mouth. He was devoted body and soul to Dacent Smith, and no tortures ever devised could have ever wormed a word from him of his master's activities.
"Well, Grew?"
"Mr. Treves, sir."
"I'll see Mr. Treves at once."
Grew, the man-servant, departed, and a minute later John was ushered into the apartment.
Dacent Smith greeted him with brief cordiality, then indicated a chair.
"Well, Treves," he said, with a smile, "what is your news?"
"There is very little to tell you, sir, so far. The person who wrote that telegram signed 'Elaine,' is Bernard Treves's wife!"
Dacent Smith lifted his eyebrows; a twinkle of humour was detectable in his expression.
"What happened?"
"She was quite deceived, sir!"
"A piquant situation," smiled Dacent Smith.
"Very!" answered John, seriously.
"You see how quickly you find yourself in deep waters, my friend." Dacent Smith was looking at him with an expression of raillery in his keen eyes. Nevertheless he was saying inwardly: "I like you, Manton; you are a man after my own heart. There is a good deal of humour, as well as courage and intelligence, hidden behind that good-looking face of yours."
"Now, Manton," he said, "tell me about Manwitz. Are you in touch with him again?"
"I have his address, sir, and an invitation to go to him whenever I wish—that is, whenever the cocaine habit seizes me violently."
"I see," remarked the elder man. "Whenever the craving is violently upon you, you go to Manwitz and he supplies your want?"
John nodded.
"It is amazing," went on the chief, "the way these fellows manage to secure these drugs. Perhaps, later, Manton, you will be able to enlighten us upon that little matter; but in the meantime Cherriton is your chief responsibility."
"Cherriton showed a particular anxiety about his overcoat, sir, containing Treves's letter."
John gave a brief report of the events of the previous evening, and Dacent Smith made one or two notes on a slip of paper marked M. 15.
When John had finished, the elder man leaned back in his chair.
"It will take you some days—perhaps weeks," he said, "to get the hang of things with us. At present you are to play a lone hand. There is a chain of German emissaries working against us—some traitors and some spies—who pass information from all our dockyards to London, and thence to Germany. I want you to get into contact with one of the links of this chain—any link will serve our purpose. You must do all you can to keep the confidence of Cherriton and Manwitz. If they set you upon any task, carry it through absolutely. If papers or documents are given to you to be delivered elsewhere, don't fail to act absolutely according to their instructions. If you can get a sight of the documents, and memorise them during transit, do so, of course. This applies to letters or documents which may be handed to you by strangers—other German spies. Do you understand the importance of all this?"
John assured him that he did.
"It appears to me, sir," he added, "that by doing this I shall myself become a sort of link in their chain."
The great man looked at him with eyes of approbation.
"Exactly," he responded; "that is what you will be. Information is leaking out of England day by day, hour by hour—rippling along these chains of which I speak."
Half an hour later, John took his departure from the chief's sumptuous bachelor apartments. He had learned many things that amazed him, and one of these things, which filled him with fury and loathing, was that there were indeed traitors in unexpected places, that there were British-born people, few, but active, who were willing to sell their country into the power of the enemy.
"I hope it won't be my destiny to run across one of these gentry," thought John; "for even the chief himself would find it hard to make me keep my hands off him."
And yet that night, in a few brief hours, he was to find himself in contact with just such a traitor.
Reaching the corner of Jermyn Street, after his departure from Dacent Smith's rooms, John hailed a taxi and drove to Hampstead Tube at Tottenham Court Road. Here he took train to Hampstead, and made his way towards the address Manwitz had given him. The address was Cherriton's, and when John arrived there he found that the unamiable captain occupied a suite of rooms in a large, old-fashioned house near the Heath. The house was maintained by a retired butler, who received John at the door. The butler ascended to a handsomely furnished, spacious drawing-room on the first floor. Here Manners was seated at a grand piano, and Cherriton, deep in an arm-chair, was reading an English Pacifist pamphlet.
"Is that a telegram?" asked Cherriton, as the door opened.
"No, sir," answered the man; "it is a Mr. Bernard Treves called in to see Mr. Manners."
Two minutes later John stepped into the room.
"Did you get your overcoat?" he asked, shaking hands with Cherriton.
The fair man nodded.
"Many thanks," he said.
He had spent the earlier part of that day inquiring into the existence, status, and habits of John Manton. He was still not quite satisfied as to his visitor's release from Scotland Yard, and at that very moment he was awaiting a telegram from the Isle of Wight which would either increase his suspicions or remove them altogether. In the meantime, he preferred to trust John to a certain extent.
"You have come at an opportune time, Treves," he said.
John was seated now, and this time accepted a cigarette from the Baron's case. Suddenly, Rathenau looked him full in the face.
"You and I, Treves," he said, "have both been treated damnably!"
"Damnably!" answered John, wondering what was coming. The other continued:
"But there comes a time, Treves, eh, when the worm turns? You turned and I turned! You cast in your lot with our friend Manners, who knows how to appreciate loyalty! Manners," he continued, in the ironical tone that was his general habit, "fat and stupid and lazy as he is, is always willing to pay for loyalty!"
John looked into the Baron's thick-skinned, pallid face, into the steel-like eyes, and smiled inwardly. A pause came. John leaned forward.
"Cherriton," he said, "what are you leading up to?"
Manners, from the piano-stool, spoke up.
"Ah, you see, Cherriton—he is sharp, our friend Treves. Tell him what you want, Cherriton, straight out!"
He rose, came, for all his great bulk, softly across the room. He laid a fat hand on John's shoulder and looked down at him.
"Bernard," he half whispered, "you shall have all you want of everything. Money—and the other thing. I want you to throw in your lot with me as the good Captain has done. That note," he continued, still in the half whisper, "you gave me in regard to the sailing of thePolydorwas well appreciated in certain circles."
"I am glad to hear that," John answered.
"That was good service," continued Manners, "but there are bigger things afoot." He paused a moment, then walked round John, and seated himself on a sofa quite near. "You have heard, no doubt," he continued, "of theImperator——"
"You mean the new Grey Star liner?"
Manners nodded.
"A monster ship—a wonder ship! Forty-eight thousand tons."
He uttered the words slowly, rolling them unctuously over his tongue.
"Nearly as big as theVaterland," John said, and for the life of him he could not help looking across at Cherriton's face.
But Cherriton was quick as lightning.
"TheVaterland?" he repeated. "You mean the German ship?"
John returned his attention to Manners. He could feel the web closing about him—the web in which Dacent Smith had ordered him to entangle himself.
"TheImperator," said Manners, "is to sail one day quite soon, but your Admiralty has grown doubly cunning of late. As yet we know not either her port of departure or the hour of departure!"
John noticed that the fat man's tones deepened as he spoke; excitement gleamed in his eyes. He leaned forward and laid a fat hand on Bernard's knee.
"Treves, my boy, I trust you—eh?"
"Certainly!" answered John, truthfully. "I want you to trust me."
"Good!" exclaimed Manners, uttering the word thickly in his throat. "Now, you will understand Cherriton and I cannot appear in certain places, but with you—it is different with you—eh?"
"Quite," said John. "I can appear anywhere without suspicion."
Cherriton, who had remained silent, again took control of the situation.
"What Manners and I want you to do," he said, "is to stay a few days at the Savoy Hotel. A Dutch gentleman is giving up Room 104C. You are to take that room, and stay at the hotel at Manners's expense."
"Thank you," said John.
"There will be no need for you to stint yourself. What is more, you will have no duties whatever to perform!"
John lifted his eyebrows in genuine surprise.
"I don't quite see what help I can be in that case!"
"We are hoping that the matter will resolve itself," said Cherriton.
"Yes—yes!" intervened Manners, "everything will resolve itself beautifully. All you have to do now, my dear boy, is to say that you accept the——"
"The invitation," intercepted Cherriton.
John thought there was nothing easier in the world than to accept an invitation to stay, free of expense, at a first-class hotel, and with no duties to perform. He said as much to Manners, and two nights later found him the occupant of the room 1046, a delightful Louis Seize bedroom overlooking the Embankment. He had spent a day and a night at the hotel, and no incident whatever had occurred. On the evening of the second night, however, after dinner, John seated himself in the foyer and ordered coffee and cigarettes.
Presently, in the great crowd moving, laughing and talking near him, John observed a politician who at various periods in the past had loomed importantly in the public eye.
"He is even more ugly than his photographs," thought John, watching the important personage move among his friends. John did not like Beecher Monmouth's smile; altogether he disliked the man on the instant, and was the more astonished to notice that a strikingly beautiful woman of thirty, wearing a glittering diamond necklace and diamond ear-rings, moved towards him and slipped her arm through his. The woman wore a deeply decollété evening dress of a shimmering silk that looked to John now green and now blue. He noticed her flash a smile into Beecher Monmouth's face. He saw the politician put her hand into his. Then recollection came to John. The woman was Beecher Monmouth's wife, a beautiful woman thirty years his junior, who had appeared from nowhere and married him.
"She certainly is a beautiful woman," thought John. "A case of Beauty and the Beast!"
Then, to his utter amazement, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's eyes met his. She slid her arm from her husband's, and made her way quickly through the crowd to John. He felt his heart-beat quicken. A moment later Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was holding out her hand towards him. She flashed a smile into his face.
"My dear Mr. Treves," she said, in a voice that was low and intimate, "I have been looking for you all the evening!"
A moment later she was shaking hands with John.
"I must fly now," she added, "but you must come and see me to-morrow—six o'clock."
A moment later she was hurrying back towards her husband, her gown shimmering and gleaming as she went. There was something in the palm of John's hand—something that had passed from Mrs. Beecher Monmouth to himself.
Holding his hand below the table and free from observation, John saw that the something Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had passed into his hand was a slip of paper on which was pencilled: "Imperator—three o'clock to-morrow. Route 28."
John was conscious of a quite definite thrill. His nerve was of the best; he had accepted the momentous slip of paper without any outward sign of disturbance. Indeed, he had smiled back into Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's eyes in a manner that had won that lady's sincerest approbation. Nevertheless, he was not inwardly calm. He felt that fate, or destiny, had seized him suddenly in its relentless grip. The slip of paper was still in his right hand, concealed beneath the level of the table. For some minutes he drew at his cigarette, then, carefully taking out the pocket-book, laid the slip in its leaves, and replaced the book in the inner breast pocket of his coat. For some minutes longer he retained his seat, leaning back in the delicate gilt chair. His gaze wandered among the brilliant and fashionable crowd moving about him. The gentle murmur of music mingled still with the chatter of voices, and twenty feet away he caught the gleam of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's ear-rings, the scintillation of her superb diamond necklace. She was talking to her yellow-skinned and unprepossessing husband, but her attention was entirely and solely fixed upon John.
Their eyes met, and John was obliged to concede, for the second time, that she was a woman of exceptional beauty. The art of her coiffeur, and, possibly, the art of her complexion expert, had wrought its best for her. Nevertheless, she would have stood out among any assemblage of young and prepossessing women. Her husband quite visibly adored her, and every word she condescended to transmit to him was received with a quick, responsive smile on his part.
John was thinking rapidly, wondering and speculating. Was it possible that Beecher Monmouth knew of the existence of the little slip of paper that reposed in his pocket-book? Beecher Monmouth, who had sat on numerous committees, who had more than once stood in the running for an under-secretaryship? The thing seemed utterly incredible!
As these things flashed through John's mind, realisation slowly came to him that Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was observing him with close intensity, under slightly lowered lids.
John rose, and as he did so the lady flashed a brilliant smile towards him—an intimate, understanding smile, full of meaning.
"I wish I knew what you meant," thought John, as he made his way through the throng out towards the cloak-room.
The circulating door received him, and he passed out into the dim light of the Strand. There was a crowd, as always at that hour, and a young man who followed closely at his heels found difficulty in keeping him in sight.
John was burning once more to look at the information Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had conveyed to him. But caution forbade anything of the sort. He was determined that this, his first swim in deep waters, should achieve a successful issue. His chief desire in life was to make good in Dacent Smith's eyes, and, moreover, obeying his chief's instructions, he had already indelibly impressed upon his memory the portentous sentence: "Imperator—three o'clock to-morrow. Route 28."
The word "treachery" floated into his mind, and filled him with rage. Until now he had been outside—one of the public. But to-night the curtain had been drawn aside. He felt himself engaged in the secret fight which is for ever taking place beneath the surface—the fight between our own secret service and the spies and traitors in the pay of the other nations.
At Hampstead, John emerged from the Tube and made his way through the darkness of Well Walk. Presently he turned to the left, through an alley, crossed a square of shabby-looking houses, and ascended a further closely-built, narrow street, leading towards Cherriton's residence.
The young man who had followed him from the Savoy was still in his wake. At this point, however, he apparently ceased his pursuit, and vanished up a side alley.
John, who had been aware of footsteps for some minutes, halted and looked behind him. The road was empty, and the suspicion that had been growing on him vanished. Nevertheless, he laid a hand on his hip pocket, assured himself that he was prepared for eventualities and moved forward again.
"I'll give this nefarious bit of news to Cherriton, then hop down to Dacent Smith and report the fact as quickly as I can," thought John.
He reached the top of Christ Church Road and paused to recollect which turning was the right one. At that moment some one moved in the shadow of the church railings near him, and before John could turn his head a doubled fist smote him heavily. The attack was so sudden, unexpected and swift that before he could in any way retaliate a second blow had been delivered.
His assailant leaped through the air, clasped two strong hands round his neck, and fell into the road, still gripping for all he was worth.
The two struggled ignominiously, and John became aware that the stranger, who had released one hand grip, was groping for the precious pocket-book. For the first time John was able to aim a blow, then, with a violent twist, he drew himself uppermost, and plunged his knee heavily into the other's chest. In the dim light he observed that his opponent was young. John was already aware that he had met no mean antagonist, and he was taking no chances.
The downward blow he now delivered on the other man's countenance staggered him for a moment. He wrenched himself free and stood upright on his feet.
His enemy was prone, but only for a moment.
"You've got a good deal of spirit, my young friend," said John, through his teeth, "but you'll get nothing from me, except another punch like the last! Now, get up!"
"Thanks," returned the other.
He rose and began to dust his clothes carefully. John did not like the man's attitude. He was quite obviously preparing to make another attack.
"Now," commanded John, moving back a pace, "don't try that with me!"
He stepped back and reached for the Colt weapon that reposed in his pocket.
"I should hate to do anything drastic," he continued; "but if you make it a habit to leap at people in the dark, and to aim half-arm jolts at strangers, you must take the consequences."
"I am prepared to take anything that is coming to me!" responded the young man.
He spoke almost jauntily, and John admired his spirit.
"I evidently did not hit you quite as hard as I thought," John remarked.
"Quite hard enough," responded the other, "but please don't shoot, because——"
Then, to John's amazement, and with the utmost daring, he leapt forward like a flash and seized John's pistol. There was a swift, fierce struggle. The moment was one for quick decisions. The stranger held the weapon by the wrong end, and John knew it. Unexpectedly he let go, and simultaneously landed a heavy left on the young man's downbent jaw. He followed with a right, and then another left. He was as busy as he had ever been, and he knew he was fighting for his entire future, possibly for his life.
"I've had enough," gasped the stranger.
He reeled away, and seated himself on the farther side of the narrow street.
John searched about, picked up the weapon from the middle of the road and pocketed it. Then he buttoned his coat, after carefully satisfying himself that the pocket-book was still in its place, and prepared to go.
"Good night," called the other, seated on the edge of the pavement, as he went.
Manton, however, was in no mood for persiflage. He took himself off, walking as swiftly as he could.
"He certainly doesn't lack pluck," mused John.
Five minutes later he reached the large house wherein Cherriton had his abode.
"I want to see Captain Cherriton at once," he said, when the door was opened to him.
He found Cherriton alone in the big drawing-room. He was in evening clothes, and was wearing comfortable house slippers.
"So it's you, Treves?" exclaimed the German as the door closed. "Come in, and I'll give you a drink of whisky; that is always acceptable, eh?"
"Always," answered John.
Cherriton was looking at him intently.
"There is a slight cut on your forehead."
"Is there? It must be a scratch."
John applied his handkerchief to the slight abrasion, then slipped off his overcoat and took a drink of whisky and soda.
"I have some news for you, Cherriton."
"News?"
The other flashed a swift glance at him.
John slowly drew out the pocket-book and produced the slip of paper.
"You wanted to know when theImperatorsailed out, and by what route."
Cherriton was suddenly and unfeignedly impatient.
"What is it you know?" he demanded.
"At the Savoy to-night," John said quietly, "this was handed to me."
He passed the slip of paper into the German's eager fingers.
"Gott!" exclaimed Cherriton, utterly absorbed. "You got this from——"
"Mrs. Beecher Monmouth."