"Three o'clock to-morrow," mused Cherriton. "There is not much time for us to act!"He looked suddenly into John's face."What a woman she is!" he exclaimed. "Invaluable—invaluable!""Invaluable!" echoed John.Cherriton laid a hand on John's arm."Keep your hold on her, my dear Treves. Your work to-night has been excellent!"Excitement had brought an unusual gleam into his hard eyes."We will do great things for you yet!"He crossed the room and rang the bell imperiously."My coat and hat," he commanded of the butler when the man appeared. "When Mr. Manners returns, ask him to wait up for me."CHAPTER IXThe hour was eleven o'clock. Dacent Smith was, as usual, up to his ears in work. Very little of the real work, conducted by him on behalf of the Department, was dispatched at the office. If he possessed a weakness at all, it was a weakness for the luxury of his own suite of rooms and for the benign, competent aid of Grew. Servant and master were each equally devoted to the other, and yet even Grew was only vaguely aware of the greatness, of the importance of the stoutish, bland, keen-eyed gentleman who was his master.At Dacent Smith's elbow a green-shaded electric lamp cast a bright light on the papers beneath his hand. The chief wrote neatly and carefully, and when the door opened and Grew came softly in he did not lift his head."Mr. Treves to report, sir.""I'll see Mr. Treves immediately.""Very good, sir."Dacent Smith raised his head."Oh, Grew, please ask the gentleman who is in the other room to wait a little longer.""Very good, sir."Two minutes later John found himself alone with the chief.Dacent Smith motioned him into one of the deep, leathered-covered arm-chairs, opened a silver box of Egyptian cigarettes, and pushed it towards him."Well," he questioned, wheeling his chair and looking at John much as an astute physician might look at a patient; "I can see by your expression," he went on quickly, "that you have something of importance to report.""I think so," said John."Well, what is it?""In the foyer of the Savoy to-night, sir, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth"—an almost imperceptible change of expression occurred on Dacent Smith's smooth features—"Mrs. Beecher Monmouth," continued John, "passed a slip of paper into my hand. I assumed at once that the paper was meant for either Manners or Cherriton, and, obeying your instructions, I delivered it at once.""You memorised it first?"Dacent Smith's tone was almost sharp."It was very short, sir. I can remember it exactly."Dacent Smith pushed a pencil and block of paper towards him."Perhaps you had better write it down immediately," he said. "If you visualise it in writing you will be less likely to have forgotten or misplaced a word."John rose, and bending over the desk wrote the exact words of the message Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had conveyed to him. When he came to the wordImperator, Dacent Smith whistled softly."You have done very well, Treves," he said. He suddenly looked into John's face. "You must better your acquaintance with Mrs. Beecher Monmouth.""I have an appointment with her for to-morrow night," answered John.Dacent Smith glanced at a little gilt clock on the mantelshelf."I think we shall be in time!""That is exactly what Cherriton said," John answered.Dacent Smith was silent for a moment."Treves," he said, "if theImperatorsails to-morrow at three o'clock by Route 28, which is their code for the North Ireland route, there will be another disaster for us."He was silent a moment and John put a question that had troubled him somewhat."But if she doesn't sail at that hour," he said; "if she is suddenly delayed or dispatched by another route, won't that arouse their suspicions?"Dacent Smith looked at him for a moment, then smiled quietly."Oh," he said, "we shall not be quite so obvious as that, Treves, otherwise they would come to suspect a leakage. What will occur is this: I shall communicate with the Admiralty at once, and some time to-morrow morning an accident will happen—quite a small accident—to theImperator'sboilers. The news of the accident will be well spread throughout the crew and the deck hands. Thus theImperatorwill be unavoidably delayed and will not sail at three o'clock to-morrow."He rose as he finished speaking and went quickly out of the room. When he returned he was obviously much easier in his mind. With slow deliberation he replaced himself in his chair at the desk."Now give me details of your interview with Cherriton."John stated what had occurred."Anything else to report?" asked Dacent Smith, looking at him with a penetrating glance. "I see you have a scratch on your forehead.""Yes," answered John. "It occurred in Hampstead; a young man attacked me and endeavoured to get my pocket-book!""Oh, that is rather alarming!""It was rather sudden," John confessed, "and he was a particularly energetic person.""Would you know him again if you saw him?" asked Dacent Smith."I think I should," answered John. "He was about my own height, but more slenderly built. Rather a good-looking fellow, well dressed. He was a most energetic and audacious opponent," he continued, becoming unexpectedly expansive."Audacity is sometimes a fault!" observed Dacent Smith. "Just sit where you are a minute, Treves; I want to introduce you to some one."He crossed the room and opened the door. John noticed him beckon to some one, and a moment later a young man in evening clothes stepped into the room.Dacent Smith led the new-comer towards the hearth."Captain," he said, speaking to the young man, "this is Mr. Treves, who is now a member of our service."John rose to shake hands, and found himself looking into the smiling face of a young man of twenty-eight, a young man with dark brown, daring-looking eyes, a sun-browned skin, and a dark moustache. The stranger's face was humorous, and on the lower part of his left cheek was a contused redness.As John and he shook hands, John uttered an exclamation of astonishment."Why, you're the man who attacked me!""Well, I don't know about that!" smiled the Captain, cheerily; "it looks to me as if the attacking was mostly on your side.""I must say," John continued, "you put up quite a good fight, but I don't quite see the point. If you were acting on behalf of the Department, why did you attack me?"He glanced at Dacent Smith, and the great man undertook an explanation. "The whole thing was a slight mistake. Your new acquaintance, known to us as Captain X., was under my orders, his avocation to-night. He saw Mrs. Beecher Monmouth shake hands with you. He also observed you—and he says, very neatly—put something in your inner breast pocket. He had never seen you before, but he naturally jumped to the conclusion that you were in league with this particular fashionable lady, whom he had been sent to watch, hence his mistaken attack on you."John turned again to his late antagonist."I am sorry if I hurt you!" he said."You did hurt me abominably," retorted Captain X. "I am not much of a pugilist and that half-arm jolt, or whatever you call it, has my sincerest admiration.""The luck was on my side," returned John politely."And the misdirected energy on mine," smiled the Captain.Dacent Smith moved to the table, took up a sheet of paper, folded it, and handed it to Captain X."Now," said he, "we will return to business."At nine o'clock the following evening John found himself in a lady's boudoir, a room heavy with the odour of Russian cigarettes. The neat, capped foreign maid who had ushered him into the apartment had removed herself, closing the door softly behind her.The room was not large, and every effort of a somewhat exotic taste had been put forth to create an atmosphere of intimacy. It was a room, as it were, planned and arranged for secret meetings. The carpet was thick; a while polar bear rug extended itself from the hearth, and beyond the hearth, running along the wall, was a divan covered in heavy silk of Chinese blue. A Chinesekakemonoof brilliant colours—red, orange, azure, green, and gold—covered the wall behind the divan. The general air of the place was one that did not appeal to John in the least. He did not care a button about exotic boudoirs. Neither did he care for Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, who to-night was wearing a Chinese overgown as brilliant and sumptuous in hue as thekakemonothat covered the wall.She had been seated on the divan when John entered. She rose now and came towards him, with the pink light softening the cold splendour of her beauty. There was no doubt about her beauty—John was prepared to admit that even at this second meeting."You bad boy to be so late!" breathed Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, squeezing his fingers in hers. She drew him towards her.The moment was a delicate one for Manton. What Treves's relations had been with this woman he could not guess. But it was his business to find out. It was indeed his business to find out many things about her. For months the Intelligence Department had held her in suspicion, but Dacent Smith's most brilliant assistants had failed to make headway in her case. She was slippery as an eel—quick-witted, cunning, daring and resourceful. In that moment, as she drew John towards her, she suspected a ruse. But there was no ruse. She looked up, her brilliant eyes searching him."Have you nothing for me?" she whispered.There was only one thing to do, only one safe course to take, and John took it. He, as it were, plunged, and risked the consequences. He put his arms about her shapely shoulders and pressed a kiss upon the upturned lips."No, no! I didn't tell you you could kiss me!""You said something very like it!" laughed John."You are a bad, daring boy.""Faint heart never won anything worth having," returned John.Mrs. Beecher Monmouth returned to her divan and disposed herself comfortably. "You bad Bernard, you must sit in that low chair at once, and tell me all you have been doing lately!"She lifted a cigarette case from a low, ivory-topped table. John took one, noticing that they were the excellent cigarettes Treves had been in the habit of smoking."Tell me what you have been doing."John mused, and the woman went on:"Do you know, you looked rather handsome last night at the Savoy." She paused and became coyly and softly wistful. "I dislike handsome boys; they are so conceited as a rule.""If I can keep her talking like this for a while," thought John, "I shall not get into deep water!"There was a silence, during which the lady luxuriantly smoked her Russian cigarette. Then she looked at John with her slow, low-lidded smile."Talk," she commanded."I prefer to hear you talk," said John. "Tell me what you have been doing lately—to-day, for instance."The lady pondered."Oh, to-day the Ogre gave a luncheon party."John guessed that the Ogre was her unprepossessing husband."The Ogre gave a luncheon party, and among others we had Lady Rachel Marlin, a delightful chatterbox. Her husband's in the Navy, you know. I could listen to her talk for hours.""I don't doubt it," thought John."After tea," resumed she, "I went to my Red Cross work."John was wary. The fact that she did Red Cross work surprised him, but possibly Treves had been aware of the fact, and it would be unsafe for him to express his surprise.There was silence for a moment until John hit on a safe question."Do you go to the same place?" he inquired."Oh, yes, the Officers' Hospital, you know. They are such dear, delightful fellows."She told him no more about the Officers' Hospital, and he put another question."What have you done this evening?""I have been boring myself to death until you came. And now you make poor me talk and don't entertain me in the least!"Suddenly she lifted her head."I hope you aren't in one of your moods?""Oh, no," said John, quickly. "What makes you think that?"She looked at him long and steadily. He sustained her gaze; her brilliant, hard beauty smote his consciousness again."Do you remember how awful you were at first, Bernard?""I suppose I was pretty awful," answered John, wondering what Treves had done to earn himself that character.Suddenly Mrs. Beecher Monmouth ceased her scrutiny and broke into a laugh, a long tinkle of laughter that showed all her fine teeth."What a boy you are," she said. "Do you remember that night when you swore and tore about this room like a madman?" She laughed again, as though in memory of a scene that had been grotesquely ridiculous. Somehow, in that moment John felt his instinctive dislike of her intensify. He saw her as an utterly cold-blooded traitor to her country. Only forty-eight hours earlier she had slipped into his hand information that had been intended to doom a great ship to disaster. The slip of paper that had so astoundingly come into his possession had in itself constituted a vile blow at the safety of England. And here was the woman who had safely engineered that atrocity, who had acted as an intermediary in Germany's pay. And this same woman was smiling at him in her Grosvenor Place boudoir, surrounded by all the luxuries of life, the wife of a politician of some eminence, who had only recently been in the running for an under-secretaryship.The thought flashed into John's mind—was Beecher Monmouth, M.P., also a traitor? He did not know. But he was prepared to risk a good deal to find out.Once more he turned his attention to the woman before him."It was rather weak of me," he said, "to act the way I did.""It was as good as a melodrama," replied she. "You said you were ruined, and swore you'd end everything! I forget whether it was to be the river or in some less pleasant manner. Called yourself a traitor——""Traitor!" repeated John—he wanted to know more of this."Melodrama again," responded Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. "However, you calmed yourself in the end. You became your own delightful, foolish self again.""Thanks," said John, and for the life of him he could not help saying aloud, "and you were able to twist me round your pretty fingers!"She looked at him with one of her quick looks."Now, that is delightful of you to say pretty things to me. Do you know," she continued, leaning towards him, "you have improved immensely—you are quite changed! Before you really came to us," she adopted a note of seriousness, "you were really too dreadful for words. You raved against the army, that had treated you so abominably, and yet would not throw in your lot with us. Oh, you were very difficult,mon ami!""And now?" inquired John."Oh, now, you are quite another man.""I'm glad you think that," said John aloud, and to himself he added, "my clever lady, you never spoke a truer word in your iniquitous life.""The change in you is so marked," went on Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, "that Captain Cherriton actually doubted your loyalty to us. He regarded your escape from Scotland Yard authorities as so sudden.""Ah," protested John, "but I was mistaken for another man.""Of course, I know that, you silly boy! But Cherriton could not rest satisfied until he had discovered that there actually existed a person called John Manton, and that you had really been mistaken for this personage."John made a mental note that in Cherriton he had an adversary of no mean order."I hope," said he, "now that Captain Cherriton has discovered my story to be true, he won't suspect me again.""As for that," responded the lady, "he suspects his own shadow. But you are very high in favour just at the moment.""His favour is worth having?" probed John."We shall discover that," said Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. Her tone suddenly became fervent, almost exalted. "After the war there will be great things for us all. Now is the time to sow; then will be the time to reap the harvest!"The expression of her face had changed. A dark, fierce light seemed to illumine her features."We shall win yet! We are winning now, but the end will be swift!""The end of some people," thought John, "will be devilishly swift!" He was thinking of Manners, of Cherriton, and of the lady before him."What do you think will happen?" he inquired."They will come here, of course," she retorted, suddenly standing erect beside the divan and speaking with fiery and passionate intensity, "they will come here—my people!""Your people?" interjected John, quickly."My people," droned she, with a lift of her head. "You didn't know that before? But you are one of us, and I can trust you now.""But everybody thinks you are an American," observed John, recalling what Dacent Smith had told him."Quite true—they do think that, and for convenience sake I am an American—a rich American who married"—she lifted a scornful lip and pointed towards the door—"who married the Ogre.""Were you working for the—the cause when you married him?" inquired John.But the sudden flame that had animated her appeared to die away; she became once more her beautiful exotic self."I have worked for the cause since——" she stopped.She, as it were, returned to earth."Bernard," she said, when she had smoked a few minutes in silence, "I have something to show you."She rose, crossed the room, and unlocked a buhl cabinet. A moment later she returned to John, and handed him an envelope. Within was a closely written letter beginning: "Dearest Alice."As John glanced at the writing Mrs. Beecher Monmouth came behind him, and laid her manicured finger-nail on the bottom four lines of the first sheet."That is all you need read," she said.The four lines at which she pointed ran:"If you think Treves has the courage for the task I will take your word for it—he shall be the man!"CHAPTER XJohn looked up quickly."Is this from Captain Cherriton?" he asked.Mrs. Beecher Monmouth shook her head."From a far greater one than he," she answered slowly.John pricked up his ears, then flashed a glance at the contents of the letter. But Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was very quick; he caught only the words, "secret session," and "ready by the twenty-eighth," when Mrs. Monmouth dexterously laid her white hand over the writing and drew it from his fingers. She folded it and placed it carefully in the bosom of her dress. She wore evening dress beneath her gorgeous Japanese rest gown, and John noticed the coquetry with which she concealed the letter from his view. He was young enough to be affected by her beauty, and was yet old enough to suspect she was playing a part—was, in fact, seeking to entangle him for the benefit of the cause. He put her down in that moment as a passionate, unscrupulous, dangerous woman, to whom adventure was the very breath of life. Moreover, he doubted her statement that she was German. She was certainly not his idea of a woman of Teutonic nationality.Her arm that had been resting upon his shoulder still remained there. The lady's handsome face was very close to his; he could see deep into her smiling eyes, and was not comfortable under the closeness of her scrutiny. His resemblance to Bernard Treves was striking, but it was not perfect enough, he feared, to deceive the watchfulness of a woman who had evidently been closely intimate with that young man. He endeavoured to break the intensity of her gaze by leading her back to her chair."Well," she whispered tenderly, "have you nothing to say to me?""There are a thousand things I would like to say," returned John, promptly. "Let me light you a cigarette." He struck a match and placed one of her buff-coloured Russian cigarettes in her fingers. As he held the light, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth spoke on a new note of seriousness."Bernard, I have been kindness itself to you."John assured her that she had."When the others doubted you I clung to my belief in you.""You have been wonderful!" said John."You are changed, Bernard.""That's impossible," answered John, "where you are concerned." He again experienced the sensation—a common one with him these days—that he walked upon the edge of a precipice."I have shown my confidence in you.""You mean," proceeded John, "you have spoken up for me to the great personage who wrote the letter.""Yes. Are you grateful?" inquired she, looking at him quizzically. She had disposed herself upon the divan in a graceful, languid poise."I am more than grateful," said John. "But, tell me, who is this great personage?"The lady's laughter sounded musically in the little pink lighted room."Oh, my dear Bernard," she protested; "that comes much later.""I suppose," John said, feeling that a bold plunge was worth while, "the personage is the head of the German secret agents in England?""What makes you think that?""My dear Alice, you would not stand in such awe of anyone less important than that." For some minutes—since the time he had caught sight of the letter, in fact—he had resolved to call her "Alice" at the earliest opportunity. He was playing a part. He had taken up another man's love affair at an unknown state of development—a dangerous thing to do. However, the duel between them, he believed, was to his advantage. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had made a false step. She had already revealed to him the existence of a high secret power—a power far above and beyond Cherriton and Manwitz."Alice," he said, suddenly, drawing his chair a little nearer and laying a hand on her arm, "tell me who is the Great Unknown?""Patience, patience, Bernard. You will hear, all in good time." She lifted his hand from her arm and pushed him gently away. At the same moment there came a low knock at the door. A discreet pause followed before Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's foreign maid, in cap and white apron, entered."The master's returned, ma'am."The girl spoke in a low tone, intended for her mistress's ear alone, and immediately went out, closing the door behind her."Sit over there," commanded Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, waving John towards a chair at the hearth. "Sit over there, and be very good."John moved to the hearth. He wondered if Bernard Treves had known the Ogre, or if an introduction was to take place. The awkwardness of the situation was solved for him a moment later, when the door behind him opened. In a slender strip of mirror on the opposite wall John saw the reflected figure of Beecher Monmouth, M.P. The pink light softened a little the bilious yellow of his skin. But he was still an unprepossessing object, with his bald head, his long, pointed nose, and his thin-lipped mouth.Mrs. Monmouth rose as her husband entered, and went towards him with hands outstretched."William, darling," she exclaimed, "how nice of you to come home so early. I must introduce you to Mr. Treves."John rose and bowed. Beecher Monmouth put a large bony hand in his. He had just returned from the House of Commons, and looked weary and old; he looked every one of his sixty-four years. John wondered whether he ought to stay or not, but Mrs. Beecher Monmouth solved the situation by holding out her hand."You must come and see me again, Mr. Treves." Her tone was almost motherly. He shook hands with her, and saw her move towards her husband and slip her arm through his.Husband and wife were standing together as the maid conducted John downstairs."What a monument of treachery and deceit she is," thought John, as he stepped out into the starlit night.In the meantime Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had pressed her ungainly husband into a deep arm-chair, had commanded that whisky and soda should be brought, and was already holding the match that lit his cigar. Beecher Monmouth watched her with admiration in his tired eyes. He was prepared to sell his soul for her, and was never weary of telling her that he was the luckiest man in the world to have won her love."And what did my William do to-night?" she inquired, softly, when the whisky and soda had been placed at his side, and he had helped himself to a somewhat liberal dose."A most boring evening," said Beecher Monmouth. "Irish question!""And you saw no one interesting?" asked she."I saw Brackston Neeve in the lobby," answered her husband. "There is some talk of a military expedition to ——. I don't know whether it will come off or not. The Cabinet, I believe, discussed it yesterday.""What did Brackston Neeve say?"Beecher Monmouth took a sip of whisky."Why should I bore you with stupid politics?""They aren't stupid to me," she said. "You know every tiny bit of your political life interests me intensely." She settled herself in a low chair beside him. "Now you must tell me everything Brackston Neeve said. He is in the confidence of the Cabinet, is he not?"Her husband nodded."He has the confidence of several members of the Cabinet.""Tell me everything, William...."Half an hour later, when Monmouth had finished his cigar and whisky, he rose wearily, kissed her, and went to his room. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth waited until he was safely out of the way, then, going to the telephone on the buhl writing-desk, rang up a number."Is that Doctor Voules?" she inquired.At the other end of the telephone a deep voice answered in the affirmative."May I call upon you at eleven o'clock to-morrow?" inquired Mrs. Monmouth."Is it important?" asked the voice.Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, in the solitude of her room, smiled slightly."I shall leave you to judge of that," she replied."Very good," answered the voice. "I shall expect you at eleven precisely."On the following morning Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, quietly, but expensively, dressed, presented herself at the hotel bureau.Three minutes later the lift door closed upon her and she was wafted swiftly upward to the third floor. A page boy conducted her along a corridor, opened a door, and departed.The apartment into which she had been shown overlooked the Haymarket. Decorations of white and gold caught Mrs. Monmouth's vision. Seated at a desk from whence he could look down upon the busy life of the street below was a broad-shouldered, elderly man, who laid down his pen as his visitor entered.Mrs. Beecher Monmouth hurried towards him."It is so good of you to see me, doctor," she exclaimed, effusively."Oh, not at all. I am charmed to see you," he answered. He moved a little farther into the room, so that prying eyes from the building opposite could not observe him; then, with an air of great gallantry, he bent over Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's hand and laid his lips upon it."You will sit down and tell me your news," said the doctor.Mrs. Monmouth accepted the offered chair.Doctor "Voules" was of middle height, sturdily, but not heavily, built. He carried himself well, holding his head high and looking squarely and masterfully before him. His head was round, his strong, heavy-jawed face was clean shaven, and his wide mouth drooped at the corners. Both physically and intellectually the doctor was a formidable figure, but the harshness of his countenance was belied by a surface air of politeness—a politeness which appeared to be assumed, and which sat ill upon him. His air, despite his efforts of concealment, was one of lofty authority."You will tell me your important news," he said quietly."I don't know that it is important," admitted Mrs. Monmouth, "but my husband heard accidentally in the House of Commons last night that there is talk of an expedition to ——."Voules's eyebrows moved very slightly."I shall be grateful to know everything your husband heard."Then Mrs. Beecher Monmouth told him exactly, word for word, all she had managed to worm from her husband."He considers, then," inquired Voules, "that the expedition is to become an accomplished fact?"Mrs. Beecher Monmouth nodded."Did your husband learn anything else in regard to this most interesting little adventure?"Mrs. Monmouth shook her head."Ah," exclaimed Voules, "it would be most useful to us if you could learn the name of the officer who is in command of the expedition. You will keep that in mind?"Mrs. Beecher Monmouth assured him upon that point."Now, in regard to your protégé, Mr. Treves," observed the doctor. "This young man, I understand, is very well connected, and is the son of Colonel Treves?"Mrs. Monmouth nodded."My information is that his disappearance from the British Army was somewhat rapid, and that fact, together with his propensity for drugs, gradually brought him into our service. I should like to see him," went on the doctor, "to judge for myself; but in the meantime I can make much use of him. I shall take you at your word and give him important duties to perform.""Thank you," observed Mrs. Monmouth. "That is extremely kind of you, doctor."Voules, who had seated himself, rose now and held out his hand."My compliments to you upon your excellent work."Two minutes later, with much politeness, he accompanied her out of the room, along the corridor, and saw her into the lift.When he returned to his own room, he opened the door of an inner apartment and summoned a thin young man, wearing tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles. The young man was clean shaven and was possessed of a somewhat small and receding chin, which gave him a foolish aspect. He was not foolish in the least, however; he was, on the contrary, extremely fox-like and alert. The doctor's politeness vanished as he confronted the young man."Baumer," he commanded, "come into the other room, please." He crossed to his desk near the window overlooking the street, and seated himself. The young man entered and stood at his side, awaiting instructions. "You will make a note," said the doctor, "that a Mr. Bernard Treves is to come to my house to-day week.""Very good, Excellenz," answered the young man deferentially. He began to write a note in pencil on a small writing block he had produced."You will also," went on the doctor, "inform Hauptman Rathenau that I wish to see Mr. Treves's dossier again.""Yes, Excellenz; but if I might be permitted to suggest so much, Lieutenant Treves, whose family is well known, would be a safer person to use for purposes of association with the officers at Fort Heatherpoint.""But our excellent Cherriton was educated at Oxford," said the elder man. "He is to all outward seeming an Englishman.""Nevertheless, Excellenz," Baumer insisted, "I feel we should be safer to employ an Englishman. There is much freemasonry among the English, and there is always danger, Excellenz, that some one who knew the real Captain Cherriton may meet Herr Rathenau.""But Heatherpoint," said Voules, "is one of our key positions. You forget that, Baumer.""No, Excellenz, I remember it perfectly."His superior was silent for a moment, then said, quietly, "I have decided that Cherriton shall do this work; he has greater experience. This time our movements must be all perfect. Our staff work here, Baumer, must be even superior to the staff work in France. We must in no degree underrate our enemies." He was silent a moment, pondering the great scheme that had grown in his brain months earlier—the scheme that was to strike a blow at the very heart of England. His orders were to restore new confidence throughout Germany in the failing U-boat campaign. Minutely, piece by piece, he had worked out his daring and masterful plan. The success of his country in discovering the sailing of British ships; the strength and equipment of our distant expeditions; the amount of munitions and arms being manufactured—these things were in the daily routine of espionage. But General von Kuhne was no believer in defensive operations. He, like his friend Bernhardi, was a disciple of Clausewitz—a believer in offensive warfare. To strike, to strike hard and unerringly, after minute preparation, was his ideal of strategy. Already, for many weeks, he had been placing his pawns ready for the great coup. Cunningly and with infinite patience he had prepared for the great blow that was intended to send a shudder through the British Isles.CHAPTER XIThe little clock on Dacent Smith's mantelshelf chimed the hour of seven."I am as empty as a drum," exclaimed Captain X. His slender figure occupied one of the Chief's deep armchairs. He was smoking one of Smith's cigarettes, and his handsome face and audacious-looking eyes were upturned as he watched the smoke ascend. "How long have we been here, Treves?" he inquired."Three hours," answered John. He too occupied one of Dacent Smith's deep chairs and smoked his Chief's cigarettes."What about asking old Grew if he knows anything," continued Captain X——. He leaned over and pressed his thumb upon the electric bell push. Almost immediately, and quite noiselessly, the door opened and Dacent Smith's big-boned manservant came into the room."Look here, Grew," said the Captain, twisting his head to get a view of the tall servant. "When do you think the War Council will break up?""I couldn't say, sir," answered Grew, looking at him with a wooden expression."You mean if you could, you wouldn't," returned the Captain. "But I would like to tell you, Grew, that both of us are most devilish hungry. Can you tell us anything about food?""I have orders to serve dinner at 7.30," answered Grew.For three hours John and his companion, acting upon orders, had been waiting in Dacent Smith's room. The Chief had been called suddenly to a meeting of the War Council, and had not returned."I expect there are big things afoot," observed John, glancing at the other."It's a bit unusual," answered the Captain, "for him to stay so long. Perhaps he has ferreted out something new, and is communicating what he knows to the mighty ones."He suddenly turned and looked close at John."How do you like our sort of work, Treves?""There is nothing to beat it," John answered. "My only trouble is that I am apt to lose my temper. Somehow I cannot stomach spies, but traitors always make me see red."The Captain looked at him with smiling eyes."Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. The Chief would never trust me there. She is too beautiful by far, eh, Treves?"John agreed that Mrs. Monmouth's beauty was undeniable."In my opinion," went on John's companion, "the Department ought to put her out of harm's way. But the Chief knows better. He has ordered supervision of all the letters she posts, and she posts a good many."The door opened at that moment and Dacent Smith himself came hurriedly in. He apologised politely for his absence. The fact that he was head of a great department, that he was indeed a great man, never weighed with him in regard to his subordinates. Socially he treated them all as his equals; only in matters of discipline was he superior. He laughed as he looked at his depleted cigarette-box, and then seated himself at his desk.With a brisk movement he switched on the light."I have had three hours of the War Council," he said, speaking to both Treves and the Captain. "Now, Treves, what is the news?"John told him that Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was in communication with a person whose name was unknown to him; this person was evidently of great importance to the German secret service, and was considering the employment of John in a great undertaking."Who is the great unknown?" inquired Dacent Smith."I don't know, sir," John admitted.The elder man tightened his lips."Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's acquaintances are becoming increasingly interesting to us, eh, Treves?""I believe so, sir," said John."We have been a little late in supervising her letters," said Dacent Smith, looking across at Captain X. "However," he said suddenly, turning the conversation, "that is a matter outside Treves's duties. I have other and more important work for both of you. This afternoon," he went on, "I have submitted a number of reports to the War Council, showing that certain of our defences are in a sensitive condition. Something is occurring, and news is leaking out at a serious rate." He was speaking particularly to John. But it was evident that he wished Captain X. to listen to the conversation. "There is a leakage of news from certain fortified zones on the South Coast. In the case of some of the lesser forts it matters not a brass farthing what the enemy discovers, but at other places—well," he continued, "it has been decided this afternoon that a department is to direct its special attention to the South Coast. Both of you gentlemen will resume uniform almost at once. You will like that, eh, Treves?""Very much indeed, sir.""The War Council," went on Dacent Smith, "was inclined to treat my fears a little lightly, but I am sure I am right. There are secret operations preparing against us on the South Coast, which are of a greater magnitude than anything that has yet been attempted by German espionage. I want you"—he suddenly rose and took John's hand in his—"I want you, Treves, to put everything into this—all your shrewdness and all your tact. You will need every quality of nerve and mind in the work I am going to entrust to you. And believe me," he said, lowering his voice a little, "matters are very serious indeed. We are out against a secret enemy, who has of late increased his power amazingly. There is some one—a new power—directing German espionage in this country, which is a real menace to us. Up to now we have done very well, but at present, I will quite frankly admit to you, our position is delicate in the extreme. I dislike preaching," he concluded in a lighter tone, "but I think you know what I mean."John, who had gripped his hand cordially, answered simply, "Yes, sir; I think I appreciate the danger."The clock on the little mantelshelf chimed the half-hour. Grew knocked at the door."Dinner's ready," exclaimed Dacent Smith. "Come this way, and I'll show you how a miserable old bachelor lives."
"Three o'clock to-morrow," mused Cherriton. "There is not much time for us to act!"
He looked suddenly into John's face.
"What a woman she is!" he exclaimed. "Invaluable—invaluable!"
"Invaluable!" echoed John.
Cherriton laid a hand on John's arm.
"Keep your hold on her, my dear Treves. Your work to-night has been excellent!"
Excitement had brought an unusual gleam into his hard eyes.
"We will do great things for you yet!"
He crossed the room and rang the bell imperiously.
"My coat and hat," he commanded of the butler when the man appeared. "When Mr. Manners returns, ask him to wait up for me."
CHAPTER IX
The hour was eleven o'clock. Dacent Smith was, as usual, up to his ears in work. Very little of the real work, conducted by him on behalf of the Department, was dispatched at the office. If he possessed a weakness at all, it was a weakness for the luxury of his own suite of rooms and for the benign, competent aid of Grew. Servant and master were each equally devoted to the other, and yet even Grew was only vaguely aware of the greatness, of the importance of the stoutish, bland, keen-eyed gentleman who was his master.
At Dacent Smith's elbow a green-shaded electric lamp cast a bright light on the papers beneath his hand. The chief wrote neatly and carefully, and when the door opened and Grew came softly in he did not lift his head.
"Mr. Treves to report, sir."
"I'll see Mr. Treves immediately."
"Very good, sir."
Dacent Smith raised his head.
"Oh, Grew, please ask the gentleman who is in the other room to wait a little longer."
"Very good, sir."
Two minutes later John found himself alone with the chief.
Dacent Smith motioned him into one of the deep, leathered-covered arm-chairs, opened a silver box of Egyptian cigarettes, and pushed it towards him.
"Well," he questioned, wheeling his chair and looking at John much as an astute physician might look at a patient; "I can see by your expression," he went on quickly, "that you have something of importance to report."
"I think so," said John.
"Well, what is it?"
"In the foyer of the Savoy to-night, sir, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth"—an almost imperceptible change of expression occurred on Dacent Smith's smooth features—"Mrs. Beecher Monmouth," continued John, "passed a slip of paper into my hand. I assumed at once that the paper was meant for either Manners or Cherriton, and, obeying your instructions, I delivered it at once."
"You memorised it first?"
Dacent Smith's tone was almost sharp.
"It was very short, sir. I can remember it exactly."
Dacent Smith pushed a pencil and block of paper towards him.
"Perhaps you had better write it down immediately," he said. "If you visualise it in writing you will be less likely to have forgotten or misplaced a word."
John rose, and bending over the desk wrote the exact words of the message Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had conveyed to him. When he came to the wordImperator, Dacent Smith whistled softly.
"You have done very well, Treves," he said. He suddenly looked into John's face. "You must better your acquaintance with Mrs. Beecher Monmouth."
"I have an appointment with her for to-morrow night," answered John.
Dacent Smith glanced at a little gilt clock on the mantelshelf.
"I think we shall be in time!"
"That is exactly what Cherriton said," John answered.
Dacent Smith was silent for a moment.
"Treves," he said, "if theImperatorsails to-morrow at three o'clock by Route 28, which is their code for the North Ireland route, there will be another disaster for us."
He was silent a moment and John put a question that had troubled him somewhat.
"But if she doesn't sail at that hour," he said; "if she is suddenly delayed or dispatched by another route, won't that arouse their suspicions?"
Dacent Smith looked at him for a moment, then smiled quietly.
"Oh," he said, "we shall not be quite so obvious as that, Treves, otherwise they would come to suspect a leakage. What will occur is this: I shall communicate with the Admiralty at once, and some time to-morrow morning an accident will happen—quite a small accident—to theImperator'sboilers. The news of the accident will be well spread throughout the crew and the deck hands. Thus theImperatorwill be unavoidably delayed and will not sail at three o'clock to-morrow."
He rose as he finished speaking and went quickly out of the room. When he returned he was obviously much easier in his mind. With slow deliberation he replaced himself in his chair at the desk.
"Now give me details of your interview with Cherriton."
John stated what had occurred.
"Anything else to report?" asked Dacent Smith, looking at him with a penetrating glance. "I see you have a scratch on your forehead."
"Yes," answered John. "It occurred in Hampstead; a young man attacked me and endeavoured to get my pocket-book!"
"Oh, that is rather alarming!"
"It was rather sudden," John confessed, "and he was a particularly energetic person."
"Would you know him again if you saw him?" asked Dacent Smith.
"I think I should," answered John. "He was about my own height, but more slenderly built. Rather a good-looking fellow, well dressed. He was a most energetic and audacious opponent," he continued, becoming unexpectedly expansive.
"Audacity is sometimes a fault!" observed Dacent Smith. "Just sit where you are a minute, Treves; I want to introduce you to some one."
He crossed the room and opened the door. John noticed him beckon to some one, and a moment later a young man in evening clothes stepped into the room.
Dacent Smith led the new-comer towards the hearth.
"Captain," he said, speaking to the young man, "this is Mr. Treves, who is now a member of our service."
John rose to shake hands, and found himself looking into the smiling face of a young man of twenty-eight, a young man with dark brown, daring-looking eyes, a sun-browned skin, and a dark moustache. The stranger's face was humorous, and on the lower part of his left cheek was a contused redness.
As John and he shook hands, John uttered an exclamation of astonishment.
"Why, you're the man who attacked me!"
"Well, I don't know about that!" smiled the Captain, cheerily; "it looks to me as if the attacking was mostly on your side."
"I must say," John continued, "you put up quite a good fight, but I don't quite see the point. If you were acting on behalf of the Department, why did you attack me?"
He glanced at Dacent Smith, and the great man undertook an explanation. "The whole thing was a slight mistake. Your new acquaintance, known to us as Captain X., was under my orders, his avocation to-night. He saw Mrs. Beecher Monmouth shake hands with you. He also observed you—and he says, very neatly—put something in your inner breast pocket. He had never seen you before, but he naturally jumped to the conclusion that you were in league with this particular fashionable lady, whom he had been sent to watch, hence his mistaken attack on you."
John turned again to his late antagonist.
"I am sorry if I hurt you!" he said.
"You did hurt me abominably," retorted Captain X. "I am not much of a pugilist and that half-arm jolt, or whatever you call it, has my sincerest admiration."
"The luck was on my side," returned John politely.
"And the misdirected energy on mine," smiled the Captain.
Dacent Smith moved to the table, took up a sheet of paper, folded it, and handed it to Captain X.
"Now," said he, "we will return to business."
At nine o'clock the following evening John found himself in a lady's boudoir, a room heavy with the odour of Russian cigarettes. The neat, capped foreign maid who had ushered him into the apartment had removed herself, closing the door softly behind her.
The room was not large, and every effort of a somewhat exotic taste had been put forth to create an atmosphere of intimacy. It was a room, as it were, planned and arranged for secret meetings. The carpet was thick; a while polar bear rug extended itself from the hearth, and beyond the hearth, running along the wall, was a divan covered in heavy silk of Chinese blue. A Chinesekakemonoof brilliant colours—red, orange, azure, green, and gold—covered the wall behind the divan. The general air of the place was one that did not appeal to John in the least. He did not care a button about exotic boudoirs. Neither did he care for Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, who to-night was wearing a Chinese overgown as brilliant and sumptuous in hue as thekakemonothat covered the wall.
She had been seated on the divan when John entered. She rose now and came towards him, with the pink light softening the cold splendour of her beauty. There was no doubt about her beauty—John was prepared to admit that even at this second meeting.
"You bad boy to be so late!" breathed Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, squeezing his fingers in hers. She drew him towards her.
The moment was a delicate one for Manton. What Treves's relations had been with this woman he could not guess. But it was his business to find out. It was indeed his business to find out many things about her. For months the Intelligence Department had held her in suspicion, but Dacent Smith's most brilliant assistants had failed to make headway in her case. She was slippery as an eel—quick-witted, cunning, daring and resourceful. In that moment, as she drew John towards her, she suspected a ruse. But there was no ruse. She looked up, her brilliant eyes searching him.
"Have you nothing for me?" she whispered.
There was only one thing to do, only one safe course to take, and John took it. He, as it were, plunged, and risked the consequences. He put his arms about her shapely shoulders and pressed a kiss upon the upturned lips.
"No, no! I didn't tell you you could kiss me!"
"You said something very like it!" laughed John.
"You are a bad, daring boy."
"Faint heart never won anything worth having," returned John.
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth returned to her divan and disposed herself comfortably. "You bad Bernard, you must sit in that low chair at once, and tell me all you have been doing lately!"
She lifted a cigarette case from a low, ivory-topped table. John took one, noticing that they were the excellent cigarettes Treves had been in the habit of smoking.
"Tell me what you have been doing."
John mused, and the woman went on:
"Do you know, you looked rather handsome last night at the Savoy." She paused and became coyly and softly wistful. "I dislike handsome boys; they are so conceited as a rule."
"If I can keep her talking like this for a while," thought John, "I shall not get into deep water!"
There was a silence, during which the lady luxuriantly smoked her Russian cigarette. Then she looked at John with her slow, low-lidded smile.
"Talk," she commanded.
"I prefer to hear you talk," said John. "Tell me what you have been doing lately—to-day, for instance."
The lady pondered.
"Oh, to-day the Ogre gave a luncheon party."
John guessed that the Ogre was her unprepossessing husband.
"The Ogre gave a luncheon party, and among others we had Lady Rachel Marlin, a delightful chatterbox. Her husband's in the Navy, you know. I could listen to her talk for hours."
"I don't doubt it," thought John.
"After tea," resumed she, "I went to my Red Cross work."
John was wary. The fact that she did Red Cross work surprised him, but possibly Treves had been aware of the fact, and it would be unsafe for him to express his surprise.
There was silence for a moment until John hit on a safe question.
"Do you go to the same place?" he inquired.
"Oh, yes, the Officers' Hospital, you know. They are such dear, delightful fellows."
She told him no more about the Officers' Hospital, and he put another question.
"What have you done this evening?"
"I have been boring myself to death until you came. And now you make poor me talk and don't entertain me in the least!"
Suddenly she lifted her head.
"I hope you aren't in one of your moods?"
"Oh, no," said John, quickly. "What makes you think that?"
She looked at him long and steadily. He sustained her gaze; her brilliant, hard beauty smote his consciousness again.
"Do you remember how awful you were at first, Bernard?"
"I suppose I was pretty awful," answered John, wondering what Treves had done to earn himself that character.
Suddenly Mrs. Beecher Monmouth ceased her scrutiny and broke into a laugh, a long tinkle of laughter that showed all her fine teeth.
"What a boy you are," she said. "Do you remember that night when you swore and tore about this room like a madman?" She laughed again, as though in memory of a scene that had been grotesquely ridiculous. Somehow, in that moment John felt his instinctive dislike of her intensify. He saw her as an utterly cold-blooded traitor to her country. Only forty-eight hours earlier she had slipped into his hand information that had been intended to doom a great ship to disaster. The slip of paper that had so astoundingly come into his possession had in itself constituted a vile blow at the safety of England. And here was the woman who had safely engineered that atrocity, who had acted as an intermediary in Germany's pay. And this same woman was smiling at him in her Grosvenor Place boudoir, surrounded by all the luxuries of life, the wife of a politician of some eminence, who had only recently been in the running for an under-secretaryship.
The thought flashed into John's mind—was Beecher Monmouth, M.P., also a traitor? He did not know. But he was prepared to risk a good deal to find out.
Once more he turned his attention to the woman before him.
"It was rather weak of me," he said, "to act the way I did."
"It was as good as a melodrama," replied she. "You said you were ruined, and swore you'd end everything! I forget whether it was to be the river or in some less pleasant manner. Called yourself a traitor——"
"Traitor!" repeated John—he wanted to know more of this.
"Melodrama again," responded Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. "However, you calmed yourself in the end. You became your own delightful, foolish self again."
"Thanks," said John, and for the life of him he could not help saying aloud, "and you were able to twist me round your pretty fingers!"
She looked at him with one of her quick looks.
"Now, that is delightful of you to say pretty things to me. Do you know," she continued, leaning towards him, "you have improved immensely—you are quite changed! Before you really came to us," she adopted a note of seriousness, "you were really too dreadful for words. You raved against the army, that had treated you so abominably, and yet would not throw in your lot with us. Oh, you were very difficult,mon ami!"
"And now?" inquired John.
"Oh, now, you are quite another man."
"I'm glad you think that," said John aloud, and to himself he added, "my clever lady, you never spoke a truer word in your iniquitous life."
"The change in you is so marked," went on Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, "that Captain Cherriton actually doubted your loyalty to us. He regarded your escape from Scotland Yard authorities as so sudden."
"Ah," protested John, "but I was mistaken for another man."
"Of course, I know that, you silly boy! But Cherriton could not rest satisfied until he had discovered that there actually existed a person called John Manton, and that you had really been mistaken for this personage."
John made a mental note that in Cherriton he had an adversary of no mean order.
"I hope," said he, "now that Captain Cherriton has discovered my story to be true, he won't suspect me again."
"As for that," responded the lady, "he suspects his own shadow. But you are very high in favour just at the moment."
"His favour is worth having?" probed John.
"We shall discover that," said Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. Her tone suddenly became fervent, almost exalted. "After the war there will be great things for us all. Now is the time to sow; then will be the time to reap the harvest!"
The expression of her face had changed. A dark, fierce light seemed to illumine her features.
"We shall win yet! We are winning now, but the end will be swift!"
"The end of some people," thought John, "will be devilishly swift!" He was thinking of Manners, of Cherriton, and of the lady before him.
"What do you think will happen?" he inquired.
"They will come here, of course," she retorted, suddenly standing erect beside the divan and speaking with fiery and passionate intensity, "they will come here—my people!"
"Your people?" interjected John, quickly.
"My people," droned she, with a lift of her head. "You didn't know that before? But you are one of us, and I can trust you now."
"But everybody thinks you are an American," observed John, recalling what Dacent Smith had told him.
"Quite true—they do think that, and for convenience sake I am an American—a rich American who married"—she lifted a scornful lip and pointed towards the door—"who married the Ogre."
"Were you working for the—the cause when you married him?" inquired John.
But the sudden flame that had animated her appeared to die away; she became once more her beautiful exotic self.
"I have worked for the cause since——" she stopped.
She, as it were, returned to earth.
"Bernard," she said, when she had smoked a few minutes in silence, "I have something to show you."
She rose, crossed the room, and unlocked a buhl cabinet. A moment later she returned to John, and handed him an envelope. Within was a closely written letter beginning: "Dearest Alice."
As John glanced at the writing Mrs. Beecher Monmouth came behind him, and laid her manicured finger-nail on the bottom four lines of the first sheet.
"That is all you need read," she said.
The four lines at which she pointed ran:
"If you think Treves has the courage for the task I will take your word for it—he shall be the man!"
CHAPTER X
John looked up quickly.
"Is this from Captain Cherriton?" he asked.
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth shook her head.
"From a far greater one than he," she answered slowly.
John pricked up his ears, then flashed a glance at the contents of the letter. But Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was very quick; he caught only the words, "secret session," and "ready by the twenty-eighth," when Mrs. Monmouth dexterously laid her white hand over the writing and drew it from his fingers. She folded it and placed it carefully in the bosom of her dress. She wore evening dress beneath her gorgeous Japanese rest gown, and John noticed the coquetry with which she concealed the letter from his view. He was young enough to be affected by her beauty, and was yet old enough to suspect she was playing a part—was, in fact, seeking to entangle him for the benefit of the cause. He put her down in that moment as a passionate, unscrupulous, dangerous woman, to whom adventure was the very breath of life. Moreover, he doubted her statement that she was German. She was certainly not his idea of a woman of Teutonic nationality.
Her arm that had been resting upon his shoulder still remained there. The lady's handsome face was very close to his; he could see deep into her smiling eyes, and was not comfortable under the closeness of her scrutiny. His resemblance to Bernard Treves was striking, but it was not perfect enough, he feared, to deceive the watchfulness of a woman who had evidently been closely intimate with that young man. He endeavoured to break the intensity of her gaze by leading her back to her chair.
"Well," she whispered tenderly, "have you nothing to say to me?"
"There are a thousand things I would like to say," returned John, promptly. "Let me light you a cigarette." He struck a match and placed one of her buff-coloured Russian cigarettes in her fingers. As he held the light, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth spoke on a new note of seriousness.
"Bernard, I have been kindness itself to you."
John assured her that she had.
"When the others doubted you I clung to my belief in you."
"You have been wonderful!" said John.
"You are changed, Bernard."
"That's impossible," answered John, "where you are concerned." He again experienced the sensation—a common one with him these days—that he walked upon the edge of a precipice.
"I have shown my confidence in you."
"You mean," proceeded John, "you have spoken up for me to the great personage who wrote the letter."
"Yes. Are you grateful?" inquired she, looking at him quizzically. She had disposed herself upon the divan in a graceful, languid poise.
"I am more than grateful," said John. "But, tell me, who is this great personage?"
The lady's laughter sounded musically in the little pink lighted room.
"Oh, my dear Bernard," she protested; "that comes much later."
"I suppose," John said, feeling that a bold plunge was worth while, "the personage is the head of the German secret agents in England?"
"What makes you think that?"
"My dear Alice, you would not stand in such awe of anyone less important than that." For some minutes—since the time he had caught sight of the letter, in fact—he had resolved to call her "Alice" at the earliest opportunity. He was playing a part. He had taken up another man's love affair at an unknown state of development—a dangerous thing to do. However, the duel between them, he believed, was to his advantage. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had made a false step. She had already revealed to him the existence of a high secret power—a power far above and beyond Cherriton and Manwitz.
"Alice," he said, suddenly, drawing his chair a little nearer and laying a hand on her arm, "tell me who is the Great Unknown?"
"Patience, patience, Bernard. You will hear, all in good time." She lifted his hand from her arm and pushed him gently away. At the same moment there came a low knock at the door. A discreet pause followed before Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's foreign maid, in cap and white apron, entered.
"The master's returned, ma'am."
The girl spoke in a low tone, intended for her mistress's ear alone, and immediately went out, closing the door behind her.
"Sit over there," commanded Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, waving John towards a chair at the hearth. "Sit over there, and be very good."
John moved to the hearth. He wondered if Bernard Treves had known the Ogre, or if an introduction was to take place. The awkwardness of the situation was solved for him a moment later, when the door behind him opened. In a slender strip of mirror on the opposite wall John saw the reflected figure of Beecher Monmouth, M.P. The pink light softened a little the bilious yellow of his skin. But he was still an unprepossessing object, with his bald head, his long, pointed nose, and his thin-lipped mouth.
Mrs. Monmouth rose as her husband entered, and went towards him with hands outstretched.
"William, darling," she exclaimed, "how nice of you to come home so early. I must introduce you to Mr. Treves."
John rose and bowed. Beecher Monmouth put a large bony hand in his. He had just returned from the House of Commons, and looked weary and old; he looked every one of his sixty-four years. John wondered whether he ought to stay or not, but Mrs. Beecher Monmouth solved the situation by holding out her hand.
"You must come and see me again, Mr. Treves." Her tone was almost motherly. He shook hands with her, and saw her move towards her husband and slip her arm through his.
Husband and wife were standing together as the maid conducted John downstairs.
"What a monument of treachery and deceit she is," thought John, as he stepped out into the starlit night.
In the meantime Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had pressed her ungainly husband into a deep arm-chair, had commanded that whisky and soda should be brought, and was already holding the match that lit his cigar. Beecher Monmouth watched her with admiration in his tired eyes. He was prepared to sell his soul for her, and was never weary of telling her that he was the luckiest man in the world to have won her love.
"And what did my William do to-night?" she inquired, softly, when the whisky and soda had been placed at his side, and he had helped himself to a somewhat liberal dose.
"A most boring evening," said Beecher Monmouth. "Irish question!"
"And you saw no one interesting?" asked she.
"I saw Brackston Neeve in the lobby," answered her husband. "There is some talk of a military expedition to ——. I don't know whether it will come off or not. The Cabinet, I believe, discussed it yesterday."
"What did Brackston Neeve say?"
Beecher Monmouth took a sip of whisky.
"Why should I bore you with stupid politics?"
"They aren't stupid to me," she said. "You know every tiny bit of your political life interests me intensely." She settled herself in a low chair beside him. "Now you must tell me everything Brackston Neeve said. He is in the confidence of the Cabinet, is he not?"
Her husband nodded.
"He has the confidence of several members of the Cabinet."
"Tell me everything, William...."
Half an hour later, when Monmouth had finished his cigar and whisky, he rose wearily, kissed her, and went to his room. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth waited until he was safely out of the way, then, going to the telephone on the buhl writing-desk, rang up a number.
"Is that Doctor Voules?" she inquired.
At the other end of the telephone a deep voice answered in the affirmative.
"May I call upon you at eleven o'clock to-morrow?" inquired Mrs. Monmouth.
"Is it important?" asked the voice.
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, in the solitude of her room, smiled slightly.
"I shall leave you to judge of that," she replied.
"Very good," answered the voice. "I shall expect you at eleven precisely."
On the following morning Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, quietly, but expensively, dressed, presented herself at the hotel bureau.
Three minutes later the lift door closed upon her and she was wafted swiftly upward to the third floor. A page boy conducted her along a corridor, opened a door, and departed.
The apartment into which she had been shown overlooked the Haymarket. Decorations of white and gold caught Mrs. Monmouth's vision. Seated at a desk from whence he could look down upon the busy life of the street below was a broad-shouldered, elderly man, who laid down his pen as his visitor entered.
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth hurried towards him.
"It is so good of you to see me, doctor," she exclaimed, effusively.
"Oh, not at all. I am charmed to see you," he answered. He moved a little farther into the room, so that prying eyes from the building opposite could not observe him; then, with an air of great gallantry, he bent over Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's hand and laid his lips upon it.
"You will sit down and tell me your news," said the doctor.
Mrs. Monmouth accepted the offered chair.
Doctor "Voules" was of middle height, sturdily, but not heavily, built. He carried himself well, holding his head high and looking squarely and masterfully before him. His head was round, his strong, heavy-jawed face was clean shaven, and his wide mouth drooped at the corners. Both physically and intellectually the doctor was a formidable figure, but the harshness of his countenance was belied by a surface air of politeness—a politeness which appeared to be assumed, and which sat ill upon him. His air, despite his efforts of concealment, was one of lofty authority.
"You will tell me your important news," he said quietly.
"I don't know that it is important," admitted Mrs. Monmouth, "but my husband heard accidentally in the House of Commons last night that there is talk of an expedition to ——."
Voules's eyebrows moved very slightly.
"I shall be grateful to know everything your husband heard."
Then Mrs. Beecher Monmouth told him exactly, word for word, all she had managed to worm from her husband.
"He considers, then," inquired Voules, "that the expedition is to become an accomplished fact?"
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth nodded.
"Did your husband learn anything else in regard to this most interesting little adventure?"
Mrs. Monmouth shook her head.
"Ah," exclaimed Voules, "it would be most useful to us if you could learn the name of the officer who is in command of the expedition. You will keep that in mind?"
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth assured him upon that point.
"Now, in regard to your protégé, Mr. Treves," observed the doctor. "This young man, I understand, is very well connected, and is the son of Colonel Treves?"
Mrs. Monmouth nodded.
"My information is that his disappearance from the British Army was somewhat rapid, and that fact, together with his propensity for drugs, gradually brought him into our service. I should like to see him," went on the doctor, "to judge for myself; but in the meantime I can make much use of him. I shall take you at your word and give him important duties to perform."
"Thank you," observed Mrs. Monmouth. "That is extremely kind of you, doctor."
Voules, who had seated himself, rose now and held out his hand.
"My compliments to you upon your excellent work."
Two minutes later, with much politeness, he accompanied her out of the room, along the corridor, and saw her into the lift.
When he returned to his own room, he opened the door of an inner apartment and summoned a thin young man, wearing tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles. The young man was clean shaven and was possessed of a somewhat small and receding chin, which gave him a foolish aspect. He was not foolish in the least, however; he was, on the contrary, extremely fox-like and alert. The doctor's politeness vanished as he confronted the young man.
"Baumer," he commanded, "come into the other room, please." He crossed to his desk near the window overlooking the street, and seated himself. The young man entered and stood at his side, awaiting instructions. "You will make a note," said the doctor, "that a Mr. Bernard Treves is to come to my house to-day week."
"Very good, Excellenz," answered the young man deferentially. He began to write a note in pencil on a small writing block he had produced.
"You will also," went on the doctor, "inform Hauptman Rathenau that I wish to see Mr. Treves's dossier again."
"Yes, Excellenz; but if I might be permitted to suggest so much, Lieutenant Treves, whose family is well known, would be a safer person to use for purposes of association with the officers at Fort Heatherpoint."
"But our excellent Cherriton was educated at Oxford," said the elder man. "He is to all outward seeming an Englishman."
"Nevertheless, Excellenz," Baumer insisted, "I feel we should be safer to employ an Englishman. There is much freemasonry among the English, and there is always danger, Excellenz, that some one who knew the real Captain Cherriton may meet Herr Rathenau."
"But Heatherpoint," said Voules, "is one of our key positions. You forget that, Baumer."
"No, Excellenz, I remember it perfectly."
His superior was silent for a moment, then said, quietly, "I have decided that Cherriton shall do this work; he has greater experience. This time our movements must be all perfect. Our staff work here, Baumer, must be even superior to the staff work in France. We must in no degree underrate our enemies." He was silent a moment, pondering the great scheme that had grown in his brain months earlier—the scheme that was to strike a blow at the very heart of England. His orders were to restore new confidence throughout Germany in the failing U-boat campaign. Minutely, piece by piece, he had worked out his daring and masterful plan. The success of his country in discovering the sailing of British ships; the strength and equipment of our distant expeditions; the amount of munitions and arms being manufactured—these things were in the daily routine of espionage. But General von Kuhne was no believer in defensive operations. He, like his friend Bernhardi, was a disciple of Clausewitz—a believer in offensive warfare. To strike, to strike hard and unerringly, after minute preparation, was his ideal of strategy. Already, for many weeks, he had been placing his pawns ready for the great coup. Cunningly and with infinite patience he had prepared for the great blow that was intended to send a shudder through the British Isles.
CHAPTER XI
The little clock on Dacent Smith's mantelshelf chimed the hour of seven.
"I am as empty as a drum," exclaimed Captain X. His slender figure occupied one of the Chief's deep armchairs. He was smoking one of Smith's cigarettes, and his handsome face and audacious-looking eyes were upturned as he watched the smoke ascend. "How long have we been here, Treves?" he inquired.
"Three hours," answered John. He too occupied one of Dacent Smith's deep chairs and smoked his Chief's cigarettes.
"What about asking old Grew if he knows anything," continued Captain X——. He leaned over and pressed his thumb upon the electric bell push. Almost immediately, and quite noiselessly, the door opened and Dacent Smith's big-boned manservant came into the room.
"Look here, Grew," said the Captain, twisting his head to get a view of the tall servant. "When do you think the War Council will break up?"
"I couldn't say, sir," answered Grew, looking at him with a wooden expression.
"You mean if you could, you wouldn't," returned the Captain. "But I would like to tell you, Grew, that both of us are most devilish hungry. Can you tell us anything about food?"
"I have orders to serve dinner at 7.30," answered Grew.
For three hours John and his companion, acting upon orders, had been waiting in Dacent Smith's room. The Chief had been called suddenly to a meeting of the War Council, and had not returned.
"I expect there are big things afoot," observed John, glancing at the other.
"It's a bit unusual," answered the Captain, "for him to stay so long. Perhaps he has ferreted out something new, and is communicating what he knows to the mighty ones."
He suddenly turned and looked close at John.
"How do you like our sort of work, Treves?"
"There is nothing to beat it," John answered. "My only trouble is that I am apt to lose my temper. Somehow I cannot stomach spies, but traitors always make me see red."
The Captain looked at him with smiling eyes.
"Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. The Chief would never trust me there. She is too beautiful by far, eh, Treves?"
John agreed that Mrs. Monmouth's beauty was undeniable.
"In my opinion," went on John's companion, "the Department ought to put her out of harm's way. But the Chief knows better. He has ordered supervision of all the letters she posts, and she posts a good many."
The door opened at that moment and Dacent Smith himself came hurriedly in. He apologised politely for his absence. The fact that he was head of a great department, that he was indeed a great man, never weighed with him in regard to his subordinates. Socially he treated them all as his equals; only in matters of discipline was he superior. He laughed as he looked at his depleted cigarette-box, and then seated himself at his desk.
With a brisk movement he switched on the light.
"I have had three hours of the War Council," he said, speaking to both Treves and the Captain. "Now, Treves, what is the news?"
John told him that Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was in communication with a person whose name was unknown to him; this person was evidently of great importance to the German secret service, and was considering the employment of John in a great undertaking.
"Who is the great unknown?" inquired Dacent Smith.
"I don't know, sir," John admitted.
The elder man tightened his lips.
"Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's acquaintances are becoming increasingly interesting to us, eh, Treves?"
"I believe so, sir," said John.
"We have been a little late in supervising her letters," said Dacent Smith, looking across at Captain X. "However," he said suddenly, turning the conversation, "that is a matter outside Treves's duties. I have other and more important work for both of you. This afternoon," he went on, "I have submitted a number of reports to the War Council, showing that certain of our defences are in a sensitive condition. Something is occurring, and news is leaking out at a serious rate." He was speaking particularly to John. But it was evident that he wished Captain X. to listen to the conversation. "There is a leakage of news from certain fortified zones on the South Coast. In the case of some of the lesser forts it matters not a brass farthing what the enemy discovers, but at other places—well," he continued, "it has been decided this afternoon that a department is to direct its special attention to the South Coast. Both of you gentlemen will resume uniform almost at once. You will like that, eh, Treves?"
"Very much indeed, sir."
"The War Council," went on Dacent Smith, "was inclined to treat my fears a little lightly, but I am sure I am right. There are secret operations preparing against us on the South Coast, which are of a greater magnitude than anything that has yet been attempted by German espionage. I want you"—he suddenly rose and took John's hand in his—"I want you, Treves, to put everything into this—all your shrewdness and all your tact. You will need every quality of nerve and mind in the work I am going to entrust to you. And believe me," he said, lowering his voice a little, "matters are very serious indeed. We are out against a secret enemy, who has of late increased his power amazingly. There is some one—a new power—directing German espionage in this country, which is a real menace to us. Up to now we have done very well, but at present, I will quite frankly admit to you, our position is delicate in the extreme. I dislike preaching," he concluded in a lighter tone, "but I think you know what I mean."
John, who had gripped his hand cordially, answered simply, "Yes, sir; I think I appreciate the danger."
The clock on the little mantelshelf chimed the half-hour. Grew knocked at the door.
"Dinner's ready," exclaimed Dacent Smith. "Come this way, and I'll show you how a miserable old bachelor lives."