Chapter 7

*      *      *      *      *The gloomy-looking waiter, who had served dinner the night before, informed John that the only way to arrive at Brooke was by hired pony-trap or by bicycle. Choosing the latter method, John, early in the morning, hired a bicycle, visited the hotel, and said good-bye to Elaine."You'll come back to me this evening, Bernard?" whispered she as she kissed him good-bye."This evening," said John. "I had no right to let her kiss me," he continued inwardly, "but, after all, it's part of the deception, part of the character I am obliged to play." Nevertheless, he felt uneasy as he rode the winding and hilly path to Brooke. The night before he had played his part valiantly and well, but he felt that in regard to Elaine tremendous difficulties were ahead.It was eleven o'clock when John reached the road which led to the empty, forlorn line of shore at Brooke. He could see the sea ahead of him, a grand expanse of blue ocean. He passed quaint Brooke church on his left hand, and suddenly slowed up near a large solid-looking dwelling, overgrown with creepers. Here was Rollo Meads, with a strip of garden in front. As John neared the dwelling he noticed a gardener at work. Something in the quiet and homely exterior of the house made him for a moment think he had made a mistake, but as his hand fell upon the gate the gardener lifted his face, and John recognised the pallid countenance and close-set eyes of Conrad, the manservant who had first admitted him to Manwitz's house in St. George's Square.Conrad informed him that Dr. Voules was in and was awaiting him."Now," thought John, as he followed Conrad to the front door, "matters may begin to move again." Dacent Smith had for some time been groping towards the identity of Dr. Voules, and John realised that in being permitted to undertake the work he was now upon he was being trusted and favoured by his Chief. He resolved, in his interview with the doctor, to exercise the most extreme caution, and to play the part of Bernard Treves with the closest simulation.There was silence as John stepped into the hall of Rollo Meads. The servant preceded him along the passage, knocked on a door, then entered, and vanished, leaving John alone. Conrad emerged a minute later, and summoned John towards him."Will you please go in, sir."A moment later John found himself in a good-sized morning-room, with two windows overlooking a lawn and a garden. The room was heavily furnished with a long oak table in the middle, and half a dozen massive dining-room chairs surrounding it. At the head of the table Doctor "Voules" was seated. He wore a markedly English-looking tweed suit, but his thick neck, his circular head, and heavy jaws showed him to be not quite the amiable retired doctor he pretended to be. Seated on Voules's right hand were two men, deeply sun-tanned. One of the men wore a blond beard, and looked frankly and honestly at John. The other was a fair-haired man, with a supercilious-looking expression. John put both down at once as naval officers. Standing at the fire-place, in uniform, was Captain Cherriton. The air of the room was heavily impregnated with the smell of cigar smoke. Cherriton was smoking a cigarette, but Doctor Voules held in his powerful mouth a long, black cigar. He flashed a keen scrutiny upon John as the young man stepped into the room and closed the door behind him."You are Mr. Treves, eh?"John assured him that he was."You will take a seat," said Voules, pointing to a vacant chair upon his left hand. "These are two friends of mine," he said, indicating the blond-bearded man and the supercilious younger man, "Mr. Sharpe and Mr. Rogers.""I am pleased to meet you," said John, making a swift mental summary of each man's appearance."I am glad to make your acquaintance," responded the blond-bearded man, and his accent was so thoroughly German that it would have betrayed him anywhere. The other man appeared to speak no English at all, for he merely nodded."Sit down, Cherriton," commanded Voules, and Cherriton, who was lounging at the hearth, came and seated himself at John's side."I am in the thick of it," thought John. He wondered what was to occur, what attitude Voules would take towards himself, whether Voules would regard him as of consequence, and of possible use, or would he fail to trust him."You are no longer in the army?" Voules inquired, looking into John's face with cold grey eyes. It was his custom to examine personally such men as were brought to him; he had infinite belief in his own powers of judgment, and in many ways he possessed a shrewd and penetrating mind. His infinite confidence in himself, however, sometimes led him into mistakes. He believed, as he looked at John, that he was examining a weakling, and a drug-taker. Cherriton had supplied all information as to Bernard Treves's unstable character and habits, and though Voules was a little surprised to find the young man healthy and vigorous looking, he was deceived by the manner in which John avoided his eyes; he was still more deceived when John, cleverly resting his elbow on the table, permitted his sleeve to fall back so that Voules could see pinpricks on his wrist, the sort of wound that is left by a hypodermic syringe used for administering morphia and cocaine.Voules's sharp eyes instantly fell upon this tangible evidence of the drug habit. He was quite satisfied with the evidence of his own eyes."You are no longer in the army?" he repeated."Well, as a matter of fact," John said, after a moment's hesitation, "my father has used his influence, and I am to be restored to my commission."Voules's eyes widened a little."Indeed," he remarked. He appeared to consider this change in John's circumstances for a moment, then he put out a hand and laid his heavy fingers on John's sleeve. "You have told this news, eh——" he paused a moment; "you have told this news to Alice?"For a second John hesitated; he did not realise who Alice was; then he remembered her as Mrs. Beecher Monmouth."No," answered John, "I have not told her yet, but I intend to write and tell her to-night.""Ah," said Voules, "you think she will be pleased?" The intensity of his gaze increased. John saw quite plainly a doubt in his eyes. "You think she will be pleased?""I am sure of it," said John."And why?""Because I can be of more use, doctor.""We have a very high opinion of the lady in question," said Voules; "we have every reason to trust her.""I hope you will have every reason to trust me," John said.Voules looked at him silently for a minute."I hope so," he announced. "We shall make it worth your while to serve us." He paused for a moment, and glanced at Cherriton. "Cherriton has already told you," he said, "that when the Day arrives, when the success that is bound to come, has been given to us, we shall not forget our friends in England." He suddenly turned away from John, and looked at the blond-bearded man on his right. His voice seemed to deepen in tone, and he began suddenly and rapidly to speak in German. "What is your opinion of our young English friend here?" he rapped to the blond-bearded man."I cannot judge of him, Excellence."Voules went on still in German:"Manwitz and Rathenau have each testified to his usefulness; he is also in the hands of a lady who can well supervise his doings."The blond man fingered his blond beard, sliding it through his hands."Excellence, let me say, may I not suggest a certain reserve in our conversation, in the circumstances."Voules laughed for the first time. John noticed that his teeth were strong and well kept, and that his laugh was not at all pleasant."Our Englander," he said, "understands not one word of German. We may speak freely, Muller. Is it not so, Rathenau?" He turned quickly to Cherriton."Yes, Excellence," answered Cherriton, with his contemptuous curl of the lip. "Not one English officer in a thousand knows half a dozen words of German; our friend is no exception.""He is well controlled by the particular lady mentioned?" inquired Voules.Cherriton smiled."Quite, Excellence; even if she cared for him in the way he believes she does, she would still watch him like a cat.""True," said Voules; then again turned to John and spoke in English. "My apologies to you, Mr. Treves," he said, "for speaking in German, but my friends here speak no English.""I don't mind in the least," answered John. He did not in the least, and as he had understood every word it made no difference."In regard to your reinstatement in the army," went on Voules, "I offer you my felicitations. You will be able to help us even more than in the past, and I may hardly say that the reward will be in proportion to the work done. If you are stationed in London we can find work for you in London. If, on the other hand, you are returned to your regiment, then you can also help us. The treatment you have received at the hands of the army, Cherriton tells me, is abominable. You are quite honourably acquitted of allegiance to your nationality. I tell you this, that you may have no inner qualms; in serving us you serve the cause of Kultur. Is that not so, Cherriton?""Yes, Herr Excellence.""Kultur," thought John; "Kultur, that stabs in the dark, that murders children and women; that calls might right. Kultur that takes a man sodden with drugs and turns him into a traitor to his country; then, having made him commit crimes against his fellow-countrymen, has the audacity to tell him that he is acting the part of a man of honour! Some day," thought John, a sudden blaze of fury burning through him, "you, Voules, will be taught a very different culture from that." Aloud John said nothing, but merely sat nervously in his chair, fidgeting with his collar, and clasping and unclasping his hands upon the table—an excellent imitation of the real Treves."Is there anything you would wish to say?" inquired Voules.John looked guardedly at the two men who sat opposite."Please go to the window," commanded Voules.The two men rose obediently and crossed the room. John dropped his voice."I understood," he said to Voules, "that I was to receive"—he stopped, looked into Voules's face, then turned his eyes away."Rathenau," Voules commanded, "ring the bell."Cherriton rang the bell, and a moment later Conrad entered the room."The packet, Conrad, for Mr. Treves."Conrad went out and returned a moment later, carrying a small white packet. He handed it to Voules, and Voules passed it to John."Thank you—thank you!" exclaimed John, taking it quickly. He knew the packet contained cocaine, and he slipped it carefully into his pocket."You will report to us wherever you are?" inquired Voules."Wherever I am," answered John."Great matters are pending," responded the doctor; "soon you will be of use to us. In regard to finance," he added, after a moment's pause, "you will write to our Captain Cherriton." He rose and gripped John's hand. "You will have no cause to regret your association with us, I can assure you of that.""Perhaps you'll have some cause to regret your association with me," thought John, as he looked into the heavy jowled face.Five minutes later he was out in the road, bidding good-bye to Captain Cherriton, who waved a careless farewell to him."We shall meet soon again," said the captain.John nodded, leapt on to his bicycle, and rode briskly down the road.CHAPTER XVIIIOn the following evening, at eight o'clock, John Manton presented himself at Dacent Smith's apartment in Jermyn Street. He had hurried to London in answer to a wire, telling him to report himself personally. Elaine, who had made the journey with him, had gone on to her rooms in Camden Town. The door of Dacent Smith's suite of rooms was opened by Grew, who conducted John immediately to the great man's apartment. As always, when John visited his Chief's abode, the speckless cleanliness of the stairs, the glitter of varnish and brass reminded him somewhat of the interior of a battleship.His superior's own room was orderly as usual, and Dacent Smith himself, who occupied a deep leather-covered chair at the hearth, rose and greeted him with a cordial handshake. The elder man was in evening clothes; he was, as always, plump, ruddy-cheeked, bright-eyed, and cheery in manner. His politeness struck John in marked contrast to the gruffness of Doctor Voules. These two men, Voules and Dacent Smith, heads of two great secret armies, were conducting a duel for supremacy. They were totally different in character and calibre, and John (perhaps he was prejudiced in the matter) was prepared at any odds to back Dacent Smith to win."Help yourself to a cigarette, Treves."John took a cigarette, and seated himself in a chair opposite his Chief. For a moment there was silence, then Dacent Smith, who had been watching the ascending smoke, looked at the younger man with the faintly humorous light that sometimes animated his vivid eyes."I am glad to see you alive, Treves. You have had one of the narrowest of escapes."John expressed his surprise."I wasn't aware of any narrow escape, sir.""Perhaps not," said Dacent Smith, "but yesterday morning, when you went to Voules's house, you literally walked into the lions' den. Fortunately, however, you were successful in preserving a whole skin.""I had no sense of anything adventurous happening during that visit," John returned, full of curiosity."I'll tell you exactly just what did happen," Dacent Smith continued. He rose, went to his desk, and drew a letter from one of the drawers. "Read that letter," he said, "and see what your chances would have been if it had arrived at Voules's house before you did.""Who wrote it?" asked John, looking at the single initial "S" at the end of the sheet."Your amiable friend, Crumbs," answered Dacent Smith. "He discovered Cherriton's letter in your dispatch case."John lifted his eyebrows in intense surprise."I had no idea that letter was discovered, sir. I took every precaution against discovery, and should have destroyed it, but it appeared to me a specimen of Cherriton's handwriting might be useful to you in the future.""It will be useful when we come to stop his activities," answered Dacent Smith. "In the meantime its discovery by Sims very nearly resulted in your career coming to a sudden end. You can imagine the situation, Treves," he went on, "if that letter had arrived at Brooke when you were in Voules's house. For their own sakes, Voules and the others would never have dared to let you go. However, the letter never reached Voules, for Sinclair had it out of the locked bag at the fort five minutes after Sims deposited it there.""It's a lucky thing for me," John said, handing back the letter to his Chief, "that Sinclair acted the way he did.""Devilish lucky, Treves." Dacent Smith rose, placed the letter in a drawer in his desk and returned to his seat at the hearth."Now, Treves, as to Voules. Who is he?""He is some one in authority," answered John. "There is no doubt of that whatever.""What is his appearance?""He is a heavily-built, bullet-headed man, between fifty and sixty. I should judge him to be used to exercising autocratic authority over others. When I reached Rollo Meads there were also present in the house two Germans, who gave me the impression of being naval officers. The fourth member of the party was Captain Cherriton, whose real name is Rathenau, as I discovered owing to the fact that they spoke German, which Cherriton believes I don't understand."John continued and detailed fully his interview with Voules. He described his receipt of the cocaine tabloids from Conrad and his exhibition of the bogus five little wounds on his wrist, which had convinced Voules that he was a victim of the drug habit. When he had concluded Dacent Smith's lips tightened."You acted very shrewdly, Treves. I will see that Voules and his little party are kept under observation. From your description, I can tell you exactly who Voules is, Treves," he said. "We have suspected his identity for some time. Until two months ago Voules was General von Kuhne, in command of a corps of the Fifteenth Army. He is a Badenser, born and reared in Constance. Our investigation department informs me that he is credited by the enemy with great ability. In character he is instinctively aggressive; a fighter imbued through and through with the offensive spirit. It is to General von Kuhne that we owe our present awkward predicament on the South Coast. Outwardly nothing is wrong, but our department knows that Germany is preparing a heavy blow. We are contending against something new, big, and masterful; something that has been arranged and planned for months. How far General von Kuhne's plans have matured I do not yet know. We are so far, Treves, only groping towards knowledge. My reports tell me that at least eight forts on the South Coast are being subtly tampered with in one way or another. You have seen yourself the masterly manner in which Sims managed to work his will at Heatherpoint."Sims's dossier," he went on, "reached me in full only to-night, and is a further instance of an effective German trick. Sims's real name is Steinbaum. He is a Hamburg Jew, who emigrated to America in 1912. We cannot trace him from then until 1915, when, with the German naval attaché at Washington, Captain Boy Ed, he made an attempt to blow up the Pittsburg bridge works. He escaped the American police, and vanished. The next step in his career was when he landed at Liverpool from America. He was already a German spy, and enlisted in our army under the name of Sims, a baker by trade.""I suppose," inquired John, "the idea of arresting Voules and his immediate confederates is outside our plan?"Dacent Smith nodded. He put his finger-tips together, and remained thoughtfully silent for several minutes."No; it would not do," he said, as though desirous of convincing John of the correctness of his judgment "If I were to lay Voules, and a dozen of the others whom we know, suddenly by the heels, we should damage our chances, possibly irretrievably. You see, if we did that, we should be removing our special avenues of information. By arresting the spies we know, we should lose the great mass of information we manage to glean from them, and at the same time should be obliged to continue the fight against other agents whom we do not know. Do you follow me?"John nodded. "I confess it never occurred to me in that light, but I can see the force of your argument.""We always stand to learn something from Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, by secretly reading all her letters," continued Dacent Smith, "but if we arrest her we lose that advantage. Then, again, their present scheme in the South may be so far advanced that it will work to fruition by itself, even if we remove a dozen individuals. General von Kuhne is, of course, the keystone of the whole business, and when the time comes we shall get him——" he paused a moment, and looked quizzically into John's face—"or he will get us!""He will have to rise pretty early in the morning to get you," thought John, genuinely impressed by his reasoning. Nevertheless, he inwardly admitted that Kuhne was an antagonist well fitted to measure swords even with Dacent Smith. Always, in these short interviews he obtained with his Chief, John felt himself drawn anew to the head of his department. Manton had no doubt whatever of Dacent Smith's ability, his intelligence was keen as a sword-blade, and swift as that same blade in the hands of a brilliant fencer. For all that, it seemed strange to John, as he sat in the well-furnished, neatly-ordered, bachelor apartment, to think that this quiet, well-groomed, middle-aged gentleman was the head and heart, the chief nerve centre, in fact, of the greatest defensive force in the country."Now," said Dacent Smith, when he concluded his observations, "is there anything at all troubling your mind, Treves, anything you'd like to get off your chest, for instance?"John looked at him quickly, wondering if his keen eye had detected anything."Well," he confessed, "as a matter of fact, there is something that bothers me a good deal.""Pass me another cigarette," said Dacent Smith, "and let me hear it."John handed him another cigarette, and hesitated."Go on," urged his Chief."Well, I should like to report, sir," John said at length, "that my personal position has become—well, peculiarly difficult during the past few days.""Do you find your work disappointing?""I am keener on my work than ever," John answered."What is it, then?""Well," confessed John, "to be precise, I find I am getting rather entangled with a lady." His tone was serious, and Dacent Smith took the statement gravely."Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, do you mean?"John shook his head."Mrs. Beecher Monmouth is rather pressing whenever I meet her," he said, with a deprecating smile, "but she is not the lady in question.""Who is the lady?"John was silent; he found a strange diffidence in tackling this subject. It was a matter of some difficulty to state exactly what was the situation between himself and Elaine. Dacent Smith waited, and then tapped the arm of his chair with his finger, which was his only manner of showing impatience."Come, Treves, who is the lady?""Bernard Treves's wife, sir!""Oh! And wherein lies the particular awkwardness?""Yesterday she came down to the Gordon Hotel in Newport to see me, and stayed the night there.""Was that awkward for you?""I'm afraid it was, sir. It seems," went on John, "that there was a disagreement between her and her husband, which ended in the lady refusing to live with him until he improved his habits.""A very proper and spirited attitude to take," responded Dacent Smith."That is my opinion," said John, "but, unfortunately, she has decided to forgive her husband."Dacent Smith suddenly sat erect."You don't mean she has made any untoward discovery?""Oh, no," said John, "she accepts me absolutely. And so far as I know she has never experienced the faintest doubt. But the awkwardness comes in through the fact that she has decided to forgive her husband and take him back again!"Dacent Smith looked at the younger man for a minute, then whistled softly."By gad, Treves, yours is certainly a difficult path.""I am glad you see it as I do, sir.""Devilish difficult—and what's the lady like? Is she young and pretty?""She is about twenty-three years of age," said John, "and—and, well pretty doesn't quite describe her. She has dark hair and grey eyes. She is rather above the average in height. She——" John hesitated and stumbled. "I am no connoisseur in these matters, sir, but in my opinion she is an unusually beautiful girl."Dacent Smith looked at him squarely."And that, no doubt, intensifies your difficulty, eh, Treves?""Well, my position last night," he said briefly, "was more than awkward." A sudden note of irritation found its way into John's voice; he could not have himself explained why he felt irritation. "The situation was wrong altogether. I felt I had no right to pass as Bernard Treves. It is one thing to deceive Treves's father in a good cause, or to deceive everybody else, but it is quite another matter to trick a young, good-looking woman the way I had to deceive Mrs. Treves. It doesn't seem to me to be playing the game, sir.""You mean," inquired Dacent Smith, quietly, "the young lady made advances to you, she forgave you, and offered to live with you again as your wife, and you, being a man of honour, felt the situation keenly? Tell me, Treves," he went on, with a new interest in the matter, "what is she like? Her mental equipment, I mean?""She is very feminine, and by no means a fool," explained John. "I evaded her last night, but she came to London with me to-day, and is waiting for me this evening. She knows Cherriton and Manwitz. Cherriton, as a matter of fact, has been paying her undesirable attentions." John, who had been looking at the hearth-rug, suddenly lifted his face. "That's the whole situation, sir, and I don't feel that I can go on deceiving her."For a long minute there was silence in the little room. Dacent Smith's little gilt clock on the mantelpiece chimed the half-hour."We're in deep waters here, Treves," he said slowly and seriously. "I can see only two ways out of it. One is that she should be restored to her undesirable husband.""If," said John, "Treves is cured of his drug habit, I suppose that would be the right thing to do." Even as he spoke a feeling shot through him that was quite definitely antagonistic to this idea. He felt jealous and utterly resentful at the thought."He isn't cured, and shows no likelihood of being cured," answered Dacent Smith. "My last report is that he tried to break out of the nursing home, and very nearly got away. He is in the condition where he would give his very soul to get drugs. No," he said, shaking his head, "we'll leave Bernard Treves in his present isolation. In surrendering his personality to you he is making some slight restitution; he is unconsciously doing something for his country. We need waste no pity on him. So far as we are concerned, Treves does not count.""What if Treves had actually managed to escape, sir?""In that case 'Voules' and the rest of them would be down on you like a ton of bricks, but we need not at present anticipate a calamity of that sort. Now in regard to Treves's wife, when you see her to-night, give her my compliments, and say I should like her to call here one afternoon this week. I think I can then ease the awkwardness of your position in regard to her. I have an idea at any rate."Half an hour later John made his way out to Camden Town, and rang the bell of 65, Bowles Avenue. Elaine herself opened the door and offered him a smiling welcome.CHAPTER XIXIn the soft illumination of the white and gold dining-salon of the Golden Pavilion Hotel John found himself completely at home. Two days had passed since his visit to Elaine, and he was again at work under the ægis of Dacent Smith. He had chosen a quiet table in the corner, had selected the dishes for his dinner, and was leaning back in his chair surveying the brilliant scene with an appreciative eye. The Golden Pavilion Hotel is famed alike for its refined and luxurious furnishings, its band, its cuisine, and its exclusiveness. The head waiter, who looked like an archbishop, advanced soundlessly over the rich carpet, and stood at John's elbow."I beg your pardon," said the man, in a low, smooth voice, "but the lady at the table beyond the second pillar, sir, would like to have a word with you."John raised his head and glanced in the direction the man had indicated. He had already seen Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, and had made a special point of concealing the fact. He rose now, however, and moved across the room between crowded tables.Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, seated with a party of friends, flashed a brilliant smile at him when he advanced."Oh, you poor lonely creature," she exclaimed, as she placed her jewelled fingers in his. "I saw you moping in your corner," she continued, when a waiter had brought an extra chair and John had accepted an invitation to dine with her party, "and took pity on you; don't you think that was nice of me?" She looked at him with a long, deep glance, conscious of her striking beauty. Her beauty was of the instantly arresting order. The fact that the art of coiffeur and cosmetic enabled her to heighten her charms was all in her favour where men were concerned. Quite, as it were, by accident, she now laid her fingers on John's sleeve."I must introduce you to my guests. My husband you already know."John bowed slightly towards Mr. Beecher Monmouth, whose evening clothes intensified the sallowness of his complexion. John noted the parchment-like character of his skin, the tired look in his eyes, and the manipulation of his thin hair to create the effect of youthful plenty. He was an old man striving hopelessly to look young. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned her eyes from her husband towards the slender figure of a woman at her right-hand side."Lady Rachel," she said, "may I present Mr. Treves." John bowed again, and Lady Rachel Marvin smiled at him graciously. She was a woman of slender figure, with exceptionally large, long-lashed eyes. Her neck was long, slender and white, and she wore diamond ear-rings, which scintillated as she moved her head. Her age was probably thirty-five, and she was, in appearance, distinctly aristocratic. Her voice was thin and high-pitched, and she talked incessantly.The third member of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's party was a fat woman of fifty, the wealthy wife of a colonel in the gunners. Any woman assessing the jewels Mrs. Pomfret Bond wore would have known that she was wealthy, and that she was determined other people should know it. She was a foolish, vulgar woman, and John, looking at her, realised almost immediately that she would be as wax in the hands of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. But it was to Lady Rachel Marvin that John turned his attention. "Did you know the Seventh Division has been moved from Aldershot?" she was inquiring, looking at Beecher Monmouth."No," said the elderly man, "we don't hear anything in Parliament, Lady Rachel.""I heard it only quite by accident," babbled Lady Rachel. "You know my cousin, Derrick, is in the Coldstreams; you remember Derrick?" she said, turning her big eyes upon Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, "I have told you so much about him."Mrs. Beecher Monmouth smiled brilliantly and nodded. Lady Rachel then went on to explain that it was Derrick who had told her of a new gun being tested at Woolwich. Derrick had been on the G.H.Q. Staff, "and," went on Lady Rachel, "he is almost as mysterious about it as his friend Commander Loyson is about the new cruiser—theMalta, which has just been put into commission at ——""Is there a new cruiser being commissioned at ——?" inquired John, sliding into the conversation. He was so apparently interested that Lady Rachel looked at him with a pleased expression on her somewhat foolish face."I am afraid, Mr. Treves, I ought not to chatter about it. But being behind the scenes, and knowing so many people one naturally picks up little bits of news here and there. It is quite easy to piece the bits together. I have not heard anything actually about the new cruiser," she said, "theMalta, I mean, but from things Commander Loyson said to Derrick, and from other things I have heard, I can assure you it is something wonderful."John, listening to her chatter, wondered how much of this information she had, out of sheer vanity, passed on to Mrs. Beecher Monmouth.Lady Rachel Marvin certainly knew a great number of people, and her social position gave her many chances to pick up exclusive information. Her silly, butterfly existence consisted in flitting from one drawing-room to another. Here she exchanged such gossip as she had been able to collect from her equally frivolous friends. As John listened to her he realised that such women as Lady Rachel are a real source of danger to the nation.When dinner was at an end Lady Rachel went to speak to some friends at another table, and the minute she had gone Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned her attention solely to John, ignoring Mrs. Pomfret Bond and the "Ogre.""Naughty boy," said Mrs. Beecher Monmouth under her breath. "Why have you never been to see me?""I have been in the Isle of Wight visiting my father," answered John promptly."I know that," answered she; "therefore, and because you sent me those Russian cigarettes, I intend to forgive you! Now, you must come and see me soon," she went on, "there are many things I want to talk to you about.""I should like to talk to you about quite a number of things," responded John in the same intimate tone."When can you come?" asked she."Any time you like.""Not to-morrow, the 'Ogre' will be at home then," she said, in a voice too low for Mr. Beecher Monmouth to catch. "Don't you think he is looking very old and worn?"John glanced at Beecher Monmouth's glazed countenance and tired eyes, and even at that moment the elderly politician was looking adoringly at his wife, admiring the richness of her hair, the fine contour of her shoulders, and the brilliance of her complexion. John felt almost sorry for the befooled and weary Member of Parliament, who had sold his old age and his happiness into the bondage of this woman."Come to tea the day after to-morrow," said Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, and John accepted the invitation with alacrity.Two days later when he presented himself at five o'clock in the afternoon at Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's residence in Grosvenor Square, he was ushered immediately into the lady's boudoir.He had seen that room only in the illumination of the pink-shaded electric light, now he saw it again in daylight, and found it even more luxurious than he had imagined—the white polar-bear rug, the brilliant-hued Chinesekakemonoshung on the wall behind Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's divan, the long gilt-framed mirrors, and gilt-legged chairs all conspired to create an atmosphere of sumptuous richness. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth in an afternoon gown which gave her almost a slender and distinguished appearance, was seated in a low arm-chair. Lady Rachel Marvin occupied the divan, and John, much as he disliked this foolish ox-eyed woman of fashion, was obliged to admit that she had disposed herself gracefully upon the cushions. The third guest was Mrs. Pomfret Bond, who was delighted to be in that society, and talked as much military gossip as she could to show that she, too, was in the swim.When John had been cordially received, and had accepted a cup of tea and a fragment of bread and butter, he seated himself at the foot of the divan and entered into conversation with Lady Rachel. Under orders from Dacent Smith he had come there with that express purpose."We have been talking of the dreadful news, Mr. Treves," said Lady Rachel, biting a slip of bread and butter with long sharp teeth."You mean the sinking of theMalta?" inquired John."Yes, how appalling it is," said she. "I heard it before it appeared in the papers.""It's one of the worst disasters we have had for some time," responded John; "a new ship costing a million pounds of public money, and two hundred fine lives."Mrs. Pomfret Bond spoke up indignantly."I can't imagine how the Germans find out about our ships. We're supposed to have an Intelligence Department. Why don't they put a stop to this sort of thing?""I expect they do the best they can," remarked John."But one always has to reckon with spies," said Mrs. Pomfret Bond."Of course," said John."But theMaltawas a new vessel," observed Mrs. Beecher Monmouth; "how could they find out when she was to leave ——?""The Germans must have found out," intervened Lady Rachel, claiming the conversation again, "for no submarines had been in those waters for weeks, and they had been swept for mines the day before. I know this for a fact."John looked at her keenly. That afternoon he had had a long conversation with Dacent Smith in regard to Lady Rachel Marvin. The fact that she had, two days ago, mentioned theMaltaduring her irresponsible chatter at dinner, had aroused a suspicion in John's mind that possibly the disaster which had happened to the new cruiser had been directly due to her foolish vanity—to her ineradicable desire to obtain social distinction by revealing to her friends her superior knowledge of what went on behind the scenes. This idea, as he sat in her presence now, listening to her talk, grew in strength, and at the first opportunity that occurred, he drew Mrs. Beecher Monmouth aside. He knew that he was venturing upon very thin ice in putting questions to her."Well, you bad boy," whispered Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, "why have you been trying to flirt with Lady Rachel?"John had seated himself on a low Turkish stool at her side."How could I see Lady Rachel when you are in the room?" he answered, gallantly."If you only meant it," responded Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, "I'd give you two pieces of sugar in your next cup of tea!""Lady Rachel cannot hold a candle to you," affirmed John."You mustn't be hard on her," returned Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. In the afternoon light the "Ogre's" wife looked scarcely twenty-five, a remarkably beautiful and imperious woman. Even John was obliged to confess that no fault existed in her passionate and somewhat sensuous beauty. For her part, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was so used to admiration that she accepted John's flattery as a matter of course. Bernard Treves, she told herself, was one of the strings to her bow, and quite the nicest-looking boy of them all. "You mustn't be hard on poor Lady Rachel," she said; "she is such a dear, delightful chatterbox.""Lady Rachel seems to know a good deal about theMalta."'Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned her eyes and fixed her gaze swiftly upon him; then she remarked, quietly:"One of her relations is a big-wig at the Admiralty.""That fact, and what she picked up from other of her naval friends, enabled her," said John, "to give a guess at when theMaltawould leave ——"Mrs. Beecher Monmouth became suddenly very still."How did you know that, Bernard?" she asked.John observed a hardening of the line of her mouth."I merely put two and two together and assumed it," he said. Then, quietly daring, he leaned forward, unobserved by others in the room, and seized Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's hand."Is it true?" he questioned.She looked at him a long minute, and then smiled, but there was a cruel light in her eyes."It is true," pursued John.A silence followed; then Mrs. Beecher Monmouth inclined her fine head very slightly. John was dexterous enough not to slide his hand away from hers too soon. The aversion he felt from her made him remove it as soon as he reasonably could. Then he drew in a deep breath."I see," he said, in a low voice, "she told you when theMaltawas to sail."And though Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was too cautious to admit the fact, John knew in his heart that it was absolutely true. Lady Rachel, exercising her silly desire for gossip, had been tricked into imparting this fatal information. Because of this she was, John believed, just as much responsible for the sinking of theMaltaas if she herself had discharged the torpedo which wrought its doom. She was, in fact, an unwitting traitor to her country. And John, as he moved from Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's side, felt a certain implacable animosity towards this vain society woman, with her wide eyes, her high-pitched voice, her elegant aristocratic poses.Nevertheless, he was politeness itself as he drew her towards the window."I'd like to have a word with you alone, Lady Rachel," he said.When they were out of earshot of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth and Mrs. Pomfret Bond, John lowered his voice, and looked down into the big, long-lashed eyes."You were speaking a few minutes ago, Lady Rachel," he said, "of theMalta."Lady Rachel smiled and nodded."I think," went on John, "I ought to inform you that I am a member of the Intelligence Department!""Oh, are you really?" exclaimed Lady Rachel, looking at him with a sudden vivid interest. "I have so often wanted to meet some one in the secret service. I think you all so splendid!""I am glad you appreciate us," John answered dryly; "perhaps, Lady Rachel," he went on, "you would like to know more about our department?""I should love it dearly," said she, with an expression of delight on her weakly pretty features."Well," said John, "if you care to accompany me to my office in a few minutes, I will present you to my Chief. He has already expressed a wish to meet you."Lady Rachel looked puzzled for a moment."Perhaps I know him, Mr. Treves. I may have met him in society. I suppose I mustn't ask his name?" she added mysteriously."No, don't ask his name," answered John.Ten minutes later Lady Rachel Marvin was seated beside John in a taxi. The vehicle glided out of Grosvenor Place and passed Green Park."Why are you looking so grim?" observed the lady. as John leaned back with folded arms."I am thinking of theMaltaand of the two hundred fine fellows who were drowned yesterday."

*      *      *      *      *

The gloomy-looking waiter, who had served dinner the night before, informed John that the only way to arrive at Brooke was by hired pony-trap or by bicycle. Choosing the latter method, John, early in the morning, hired a bicycle, visited the hotel, and said good-bye to Elaine.

"You'll come back to me this evening, Bernard?" whispered she as she kissed him good-bye.

"This evening," said John. "I had no right to let her kiss me," he continued inwardly, "but, after all, it's part of the deception, part of the character I am obliged to play." Nevertheless, he felt uneasy as he rode the winding and hilly path to Brooke. The night before he had played his part valiantly and well, but he felt that in regard to Elaine tremendous difficulties were ahead.

It was eleven o'clock when John reached the road which led to the empty, forlorn line of shore at Brooke. He could see the sea ahead of him, a grand expanse of blue ocean. He passed quaint Brooke church on his left hand, and suddenly slowed up near a large solid-looking dwelling, overgrown with creepers. Here was Rollo Meads, with a strip of garden in front. As John neared the dwelling he noticed a gardener at work. Something in the quiet and homely exterior of the house made him for a moment think he had made a mistake, but as his hand fell upon the gate the gardener lifted his face, and John recognised the pallid countenance and close-set eyes of Conrad, the manservant who had first admitted him to Manwitz's house in St. George's Square.

Conrad informed him that Dr. Voules was in and was awaiting him.

"Now," thought John, as he followed Conrad to the front door, "matters may begin to move again." Dacent Smith had for some time been groping towards the identity of Dr. Voules, and John realised that in being permitted to undertake the work he was now upon he was being trusted and favoured by his Chief. He resolved, in his interview with the doctor, to exercise the most extreme caution, and to play the part of Bernard Treves with the closest simulation.

There was silence as John stepped into the hall of Rollo Meads. The servant preceded him along the passage, knocked on a door, then entered, and vanished, leaving John alone. Conrad emerged a minute later, and summoned John towards him.

"Will you please go in, sir."

A moment later John found himself in a good-sized morning-room, with two windows overlooking a lawn and a garden. The room was heavily furnished with a long oak table in the middle, and half a dozen massive dining-room chairs surrounding it. At the head of the table Doctor "Voules" was seated. He wore a markedly English-looking tweed suit, but his thick neck, his circular head, and heavy jaws showed him to be not quite the amiable retired doctor he pretended to be. Seated on Voules's right hand were two men, deeply sun-tanned. One of the men wore a blond beard, and looked frankly and honestly at John. The other was a fair-haired man, with a supercilious-looking expression. John put both down at once as naval officers. Standing at the fire-place, in uniform, was Captain Cherriton. The air of the room was heavily impregnated with the smell of cigar smoke. Cherriton was smoking a cigarette, but Doctor Voules held in his powerful mouth a long, black cigar. He flashed a keen scrutiny upon John as the young man stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

"You are Mr. Treves, eh?"

John assured him that he was.

"You will take a seat," said Voules, pointing to a vacant chair upon his left hand. "These are two friends of mine," he said, indicating the blond-bearded man and the supercilious younger man, "Mr. Sharpe and Mr. Rogers."

"I am pleased to meet you," said John, making a swift mental summary of each man's appearance.

"I am glad to make your acquaintance," responded the blond-bearded man, and his accent was so thoroughly German that it would have betrayed him anywhere. The other man appeared to speak no English at all, for he merely nodded.

"Sit down, Cherriton," commanded Voules, and Cherriton, who was lounging at the hearth, came and seated himself at John's side.

"I am in the thick of it," thought John. He wondered what was to occur, what attitude Voules would take towards himself, whether Voules would regard him as of consequence, and of possible use, or would he fail to trust him.

"You are no longer in the army?" Voules inquired, looking into John's face with cold grey eyes. It was his custom to examine personally such men as were brought to him; he had infinite belief in his own powers of judgment, and in many ways he possessed a shrewd and penetrating mind. His infinite confidence in himself, however, sometimes led him into mistakes. He believed, as he looked at John, that he was examining a weakling, and a drug-taker. Cherriton had supplied all information as to Bernard Treves's unstable character and habits, and though Voules was a little surprised to find the young man healthy and vigorous looking, he was deceived by the manner in which John avoided his eyes; he was still more deceived when John, cleverly resting his elbow on the table, permitted his sleeve to fall back so that Voules could see pinpricks on his wrist, the sort of wound that is left by a hypodermic syringe used for administering morphia and cocaine.

Voules's sharp eyes instantly fell upon this tangible evidence of the drug habit. He was quite satisfied with the evidence of his own eyes.

"You are no longer in the army?" he repeated.

"Well, as a matter of fact," John said, after a moment's hesitation, "my father has used his influence, and I am to be restored to my commission."

Voules's eyes widened a little.

"Indeed," he remarked. He appeared to consider this change in John's circumstances for a moment, then he put out a hand and laid his heavy fingers on John's sleeve. "You have told this news, eh——" he paused a moment; "you have told this news to Alice?"

For a second John hesitated; he did not realise who Alice was; then he remembered her as Mrs. Beecher Monmouth.

"No," answered John, "I have not told her yet, but I intend to write and tell her to-night."

"Ah," said Voules, "you think she will be pleased?" The intensity of his gaze increased. John saw quite plainly a doubt in his eyes. "You think she will be pleased?"

"I am sure of it," said John.

"And why?"

"Because I can be of more use, doctor."

"We have a very high opinion of the lady in question," said Voules; "we have every reason to trust her."

"I hope you will have every reason to trust me," John said.

Voules looked at him silently for a minute.

"I hope so," he announced. "We shall make it worth your while to serve us." He paused for a moment, and glanced at Cherriton. "Cherriton has already told you," he said, "that when the Day arrives, when the success that is bound to come, has been given to us, we shall not forget our friends in England." He suddenly turned away from John, and looked at the blond-bearded man on his right. His voice seemed to deepen in tone, and he began suddenly and rapidly to speak in German. "What is your opinion of our young English friend here?" he rapped to the blond-bearded man.

"I cannot judge of him, Excellence."

Voules went on still in German:

"Manwitz and Rathenau have each testified to his usefulness; he is also in the hands of a lady who can well supervise his doings."

The blond man fingered his blond beard, sliding it through his hands.

"Excellence, let me say, may I not suggest a certain reserve in our conversation, in the circumstances."

Voules laughed for the first time. John noticed that his teeth were strong and well kept, and that his laugh was not at all pleasant.

"Our Englander," he said, "understands not one word of German. We may speak freely, Muller. Is it not so, Rathenau?" He turned quickly to Cherriton.

"Yes, Excellence," answered Cherriton, with his contemptuous curl of the lip. "Not one English officer in a thousand knows half a dozen words of German; our friend is no exception."

"He is well controlled by the particular lady mentioned?" inquired Voules.

Cherriton smiled.

"Quite, Excellence; even if she cared for him in the way he believes she does, she would still watch him like a cat."

"True," said Voules; then again turned to John and spoke in English. "My apologies to you, Mr. Treves," he said, "for speaking in German, but my friends here speak no English."

"I don't mind in the least," answered John. He did not in the least, and as he had understood every word it made no difference.

"In regard to your reinstatement in the army," went on Voules, "I offer you my felicitations. You will be able to help us even more than in the past, and I may hardly say that the reward will be in proportion to the work done. If you are stationed in London we can find work for you in London. If, on the other hand, you are returned to your regiment, then you can also help us. The treatment you have received at the hands of the army, Cherriton tells me, is abominable. You are quite honourably acquitted of allegiance to your nationality. I tell you this, that you may have no inner qualms; in serving us you serve the cause of Kultur. Is that not so, Cherriton?"

"Yes, Herr Excellence."

"Kultur," thought John; "Kultur, that stabs in the dark, that murders children and women; that calls might right. Kultur that takes a man sodden with drugs and turns him into a traitor to his country; then, having made him commit crimes against his fellow-countrymen, has the audacity to tell him that he is acting the part of a man of honour! Some day," thought John, a sudden blaze of fury burning through him, "you, Voules, will be taught a very different culture from that." Aloud John said nothing, but merely sat nervously in his chair, fidgeting with his collar, and clasping and unclasping his hands upon the table—an excellent imitation of the real Treves.

"Is there anything you would wish to say?" inquired Voules.

John looked guardedly at the two men who sat opposite.

"Please go to the window," commanded Voules.

The two men rose obediently and crossed the room. John dropped his voice.

"I understood," he said to Voules, "that I was to receive"—he stopped, looked into Voules's face, then turned his eyes away.

"Rathenau," Voules commanded, "ring the bell."

Cherriton rang the bell, and a moment later Conrad entered the room.

"The packet, Conrad, for Mr. Treves."

Conrad went out and returned a moment later, carrying a small white packet. He handed it to Voules, and Voules passed it to John.

"Thank you—thank you!" exclaimed John, taking it quickly. He knew the packet contained cocaine, and he slipped it carefully into his pocket.

"You will report to us wherever you are?" inquired Voules.

"Wherever I am," answered John.

"Great matters are pending," responded the doctor; "soon you will be of use to us. In regard to finance," he added, after a moment's pause, "you will write to our Captain Cherriton." He rose and gripped John's hand. "You will have no cause to regret your association with us, I can assure you of that."

"Perhaps you'll have some cause to regret your association with me," thought John, as he looked into the heavy jowled face.

Five minutes later he was out in the road, bidding good-bye to Captain Cherriton, who waved a careless farewell to him.

"We shall meet soon again," said the captain.

John nodded, leapt on to his bicycle, and rode briskly down the road.

CHAPTER XVIII

On the following evening, at eight o'clock, John Manton presented himself at Dacent Smith's apartment in Jermyn Street. He had hurried to London in answer to a wire, telling him to report himself personally. Elaine, who had made the journey with him, had gone on to her rooms in Camden Town. The door of Dacent Smith's suite of rooms was opened by Grew, who conducted John immediately to the great man's apartment. As always, when John visited his Chief's abode, the speckless cleanliness of the stairs, the glitter of varnish and brass reminded him somewhat of the interior of a battleship.

His superior's own room was orderly as usual, and Dacent Smith himself, who occupied a deep leather-covered chair at the hearth, rose and greeted him with a cordial handshake. The elder man was in evening clothes; he was, as always, plump, ruddy-cheeked, bright-eyed, and cheery in manner. His politeness struck John in marked contrast to the gruffness of Doctor Voules. These two men, Voules and Dacent Smith, heads of two great secret armies, were conducting a duel for supremacy. They were totally different in character and calibre, and John (perhaps he was prejudiced in the matter) was prepared at any odds to back Dacent Smith to win.

"Help yourself to a cigarette, Treves."

John took a cigarette, and seated himself in a chair opposite his Chief. For a moment there was silence, then Dacent Smith, who had been watching the ascending smoke, looked at the younger man with the faintly humorous light that sometimes animated his vivid eyes.

"I am glad to see you alive, Treves. You have had one of the narrowest of escapes."

John expressed his surprise.

"I wasn't aware of any narrow escape, sir."

"Perhaps not," said Dacent Smith, "but yesterday morning, when you went to Voules's house, you literally walked into the lions' den. Fortunately, however, you were successful in preserving a whole skin."

"I had no sense of anything adventurous happening during that visit," John returned, full of curiosity.

"I'll tell you exactly just what did happen," Dacent Smith continued. He rose, went to his desk, and drew a letter from one of the drawers. "Read that letter," he said, "and see what your chances would have been if it had arrived at Voules's house before you did."

"Who wrote it?" asked John, looking at the single initial "S" at the end of the sheet.

"Your amiable friend, Crumbs," answered Dacent Smith. "He discovered Cherriton's letter in your dispatch case."

John lifted his eyebrows in intense surprise.

"I had no idea that letter was discovered, sir. I took every precaution against discovery, and should have destroyed it, but it appeared to me a specimen of Cherriton's handwriting might be useful to you in the future."

"It will be useful when we come to stop his activities," answered Dacent Smith. "In the meantime its discovery by Sims very nearly resulted in your career coming to a sudden end. You can imagine the situation, Treves," he went on, "if that letter had arrived at Brooke when you were in Voules's house. For their own sakes, Voules and the others would never have dared to let you go. However, the letter never reached Voules, for Sinclair had it out of the locked bag at the fort five minutes after Sims deposited it there."

"It's a lucky thing for me," John said, handing back the letter to his Chief, "that Sinclair acted the way he did."

"Devilish lucky, Treves." Dacent Smith rose, placed the letter in a drawer in his desk and returned to his seat at the hearth.

"Now, Treves, as to Voules. Who is he?"

"He is some one in authority," answered John. "There is no doubt of that whatever."

"What is his appearance?"

"He is a heavily-built, bullet-headed man, between fifty and sixty. I should judge him to be used to exercising autocratic authority over others. When I reached Rollo Meads there were also present in the house two Germans, who gave me the impression of being naval officers. The fourth member of the party was Captain Cherriton, whose real name is Rathenau, as I discovered owing to the fact that they spoke German, which Cherriton believes I don't understand."

John continued and detailed fully his interview with Voules. He described his receipt of the cocaine tabloids from Conrad and his exhibition of the bogus five little wounds on his wrist, which had convinced Voules that he was a victim of the drug habit. When he had concluded Dacent Smith's lips tightened.

"You acted very shrewdly, Treves. I will see that Voules and his little party are kept under observation. From your description, I can tell you exactly who Voules is, Treves," he said. "We have suspected his identity for some time. Until two months ago Voules was General von Kuhne, in command of a corps of the Fifteenth Army. He is a Badenser, born and reared in Constance. Our investigation department informs me that he is credited by the enemy with great ability. In character he is instinctively aggressive; a fighter imbued through and through with the offensive spirit. It is to General von Kuhne that we owe our present awkward predicament on the South Coast. Outwardly nothing is wrong, but our department knows that Germany is preparing a heavy blow. We are contending against something new, big, and masterful; something that has been arranged and planned for months. How far General von Kuhne's plans have matured I do not yet know. We are so far, Treves, only groping towards knowledge. My reports tell me that at least eight forts on the South Coast are being subtly tampered with in one way or another. You have seen yourself the masterly manner in which Sims managed to work his will at Heatherpoint.

"Sims's dossier," he went on, "reached me in full only to-night, and is a further instance of an effective German trick. Sims's real name is Steinbaum. He is a Hamburg Jew, who emigrated to America in 1912. We cannot trace him from then until 1915, when, with the German naval attaché at Washington, Captain Boy Ed, he made an attempt to blow up the Pittsburg bridge works. He escaped the American police, and vanished. The next step in his career was when he landed at Liverpool from America. He was already a German spy, and enlisted in our army under the name of Sims, a baker by trade."

"I suppose," inquired John, "the idea of arresting Voules and his immediate confederates is outside our plan?"

Dacent Smith nodded. He put his finger-tips together, and remained thoughtfully silent for several minutes.

"No; it would not do," he said, as though desirous of convincing John of the correctness of his judgment "If I were to lay Voules, and a dozen of the others whom we know, suddenly by the heels, we should damage our chances, possibly irretrievably. You see, if we did that, we should be removing our special avenues of information. By arresting the spies we know, we should lose the great mass of information we manage to glean from them, and at the same time should be obliged to continue the fight against other agents whom we do not know. Do you follow me?"

John nodded. "I confess it never occurred to me in that light, but I can see the force of your argument."

"We always stand to learn something from Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, by secretly reading all her letters," continued Dacent Smith, "but if we arrest her we lose that advantage. Then, again, their present scheme in the South may be so far advanced that it will work to fruition by itself, even if we remove a dozen individuals. General von Kuhne is, of course, the keystone of the whole business, and when the time comes we shall get him——" he paused a moment, and looked quizzically into John's face—"or he will get us!"

"He will have to rise pretty early in the morning to get you," thought John, genuinely impressed by his reasoning. Nevertheless, he inwardly admitted that Kuhne was an antagonist well fitted to measure swords even with Dacent Smith. Always, in these short interviews he obtained with his Chief, John felt himself drawn anew to the head of his department. Manton had no doubt whatever of Dacent Smith's ability, his intelligence was keen as a sword-blade, and swift as that same blade in the hands of a brilliant fencer. For all that, it seemed strange to John, as he sat in the well-furnished, neatly-ordered, bachelor apartment, to think that this quiet, well-groomed, middle-aged gentleman was the head and heart, the chief nerve centre, in fact, of the greatest defensive force in the country.

"Now," said Dacent Smith, when he concluded his observations, "is there anything at all troubling your mind, Treves, anything you'd like to get off your chest, for instance?"

John looked at him quickly, wondering if his keen eye had detected anything.

"Well," he confessed, "as a matter of fact, there is something that bothers me a good deal."

"Pass me another cigarette," said Dacent Smith, "and let me hear it."

John handed him another cigarette, and hesitated.

"Go on," urged his Chief.

"Well, I should like to report, sir," John said at length, "that my personal position has become—well, peculiarly difficult during the past few days."

"Do you find your work disappointing?"

"I am keener on my work than ever," John answered.

"What is it, then?"

"Well," confessed John, "to be precise, I find I am getting rather entangled with a lady." His tone was serious, and Dacent Smith took the statement gravely.

"Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, do you mean?"

John shook his head.

"Mrs. Beecher Monmouth is rather pressing whenever I meet her," he said, with a deprecating smile, "but she is not the lady in question."

"Who is the lady?"

John was silent; he found a strange diffidence in tackling this subject. It was a matter of some difficulty to state exactly what was the situation between himself and Elaine. Dacent Smith waited, and then tapped the arm of his chair with his finger, which was his only manner of showing impatience.

"Come, Treves, who is the lady?"

"Bernard Treves's wife, sir!"

"Oh! And wherein lies the particular awkwardness?"

"Yesterday she came down to the Gordon Hotel in Newport to see me, and stayed the night there."

"Was that awkward for you?"

"I'm afraid it was, sir. It seems," went on John, "that there was a disagreement between her and her husband, which ended in the lady refusing to live with him until he improved his habits."

"A very proper and spirited attitude to take," responded Dacent Smith.

"That is my opinion," said John, "but, unfortunately, she has decided to forgive her husband."

Dacent Smith suddenly sat erect.

"You don't mean she has made any untoward discovery?"

"Oh, no," said John, "she accepts me absolutely. And so far as I know she has never experienced the faintest doubt. But the awkwardness comes in through the fact that she has decided to forgive her husband and take him back again!"

Dacent Smith looked at the younger man for a minute, then whistled softly.

"By gad, Treves, yours is certainly a difficult path."

"I am glad you see it as I do, sir."

"Devilish difficult—and what's the lady like? Is she young and pretty?"

"She is about twenty-three years of age," said John, "and—and, well pretty doesn't quite describe her. She has dark hair and grey eyes. She is rather above the average in height. She——" John hesitated and stumbled. "I am no connoisseur in these matters, sir, but in my opinion she is an unusually beautiful girl."

Dacent Smith looked at him squarely.

"And that, no doubt, intensifies your difficulty, eh, Treves?"

"Well, my position last night," he said briefly, "was more than awkward." A sudden note of irritation found its way into John's voice; he could not have himself explained why he felt irritation. "The situation was wrong altogether. I felt I had no right to pass as Bernard Treves. It is one thing to deceive Treves's father in a good cause, or to deceive everybody else, but it is quite another matter to trick a young, good-looking woman the way I had to deceive Mrs. Treves. It doesn't seem to me to be playing the game, sir."

"You mean," inquired Dacent Smith, quietly, "the young lady made advances to you, she forgave you, and offered to live with you again as your wife, and you, being a man of honour, felt the situation keenly? Tell me, Treves," he went on, with a new interest in the matter, "what is she like? Her mental equipment, I mean?"

"She is very feminine, and by no means a fool," explained John. "I evaded her last night, but she came to London with me to-day, and is waiting for me this evening. She knows Cherriton and Manwitz. Cherriton, as a matter of fact, has been paying her undesirable attentions." John, who had been looking at the hearth-rug, suddenly lifted his face. "That's the whole situation, sir, and I don't feel that I can go on deceiving her."

For a long minute there was silence in the little room. Dacent Smith's little gilt clock on the mantelpiece chimed the half-hour.

"We're in deep waters here, Treves," he said slowly and seriously. "I can see only two ways out of it. One is that she should be restored to her undesirable husband."

"If," said John, "Treves is cured of his drug habit, I suppose that would be the right thing to do." Even as he spoke a feeling shot through him that was quite definitely antagonistic to this idea. He felt jealous and utterly resentful at the thought.

"He isn't cured, and shows no likelihood of being cured," answered Dacent Smith. "My last report is that he tried to break out of the nursing home, and very nearly got away. He is in the condition where he would give his very soul to get drugs. No," he said, shaking his head, "we'll leave Bernard Treves in his present isolation. In surrendering his personality to you he is making some slight restitution; he is unconsciously doing something for his country. We need waste no pity on him. So far as we are concerned, Treves does not count."

"What if Treves had actually managed to escape, sir?"

"In that case 'Voules' and the rest of them would be down on you like a ton of bricks, but we need not at present anticipate a calamity of that sort. Now in regard to Treves's wife, when you see her to-night, give her my compliments, and say I should like her to call here one afternoon this week. I think I can then ease the awkwardness of your position in regard to her. I have an idea at any rate."

Half an hour later John made his way out to Camden Town, and rang the bell of 65, Bowles Avenue. Elaine herself opened the door and offered him a smiling welcome.

CHAPTER XIX

In the soft illumination of the white and gold dining-salon of the Golden Pavilion Hotel John found himself completely at home. Two days had passed since his visit to Elaine, and he was again at work under the ægis of Dacent Smith. He had chosen a quiet table in the corner, had selected the dishes for his dinner, and was leaning back in his chair surveying the brilliant scene with an appreciative eye. The Golden Pavilion Hotel is famed alike for its refined and luxurious furnishings, its band, its cuisine, and its exclusiveness. The head waiter, who looked like an archbishop, advanced soundlessly over the rich carpet, and stood at John's elbow.

"I beg your pardon," said the man, in a low, smooth voice, "but the lady at the table beyond the second pillar, sir, would like to have a word with you."

John raised his head and glanced in the direction the man had indicated. He had already seen Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, and had made a special point of concealing the fact. He rose now, however, and moved across the room between crowded tables.

Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, seated with a party of friends, flashed a brilliant smile at him when he advanced.

"Oh, you poor lonely creature," she exclaimed, as she placed her jewelled fingers in his. "I saw you moping in your corner," she continued, when a waiter had brought an extra chair and John had accepted an invitation to dine with her party, "and took pity on you; don't you think that was nice of me?" She looked at him with a long, deep glance, conscious of her striking beauty. Her beauty was of the instantly arresting order. The fact that the art of coiffeur and cosmetic enabled her to heighten her charms was all in her favour where men were concerned. Quite, as it were, by accident, she now laid her fingers on John's sleeve.

"I must introduce you to my guests. My husband you already know."

John bowed slightly towards Mr. Beecher Monmouth, whose evening clothes intensified the sallowness of his complexion. John noted the parchment-like character of his skin, the tired look in his eyes, and the manipulation of his thin hair to create the effect of youthful plenty. He was an old man striving hopelessly to look young. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned her eyes from her husband towards the slender figure of a woman at her right-hand side.

"Lady Rachel," she said, "may I present Mr. Treves." John bowed again, and Lady Rachel Marvin smiled at him graciously. She was a woman of slender figure, with exceptionally large, long-lashed eyes. Her neck was long, slender and white, and she wore diamond ear-rings, which scintillated as she moved her head. Her age was probably thirty-five, and she was, in appearance, distinctly aristocratic. Her voice was thin and high-pitched, and she talked incessantly.

The third member of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's party was a fat woman of fifty, the wealthy wife of a colonel in the gunners. Any woman assessing the jewels Mrs. Pomfret Bond wore would have known that she was wealthy, and that she was determined other people should know it. She was a foolish, vulgar woman, and John, looking at her, realised almost immediately that she would be as wax in the hands of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. But it was to Lady Rachel Marvin that John turned his attention. "Did you know the Seventh Division has been moved from Aldershot?" she was inquiring, looking at Beecher Monmouth.

"No," said the elderly man, "we don't hear anything in Parliament, Lady Rachel."

"I heard it only quite by accident," babbled Lady Rachel. "You know my cousin, Derrick, is in the Coldstreams; you remember Derrick?" she said, turning her big eyes upon Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, "I have told you so much about him."

Mrs. Beecher Monmouth smiled brilliantly and nodded. Lady Rachel then went on to explain that it was Derrick who had told her of a new gun being tested at Woolwich. Derrick had been on the G.H.Q. Staff, "and," went on Lady Rachel, "he is almost as mysterious about it as his friend Commander Loyson is about the new cruiser—theMalta, which has just been put into commission at ——"

"Is there a new cruiser being commissioned at ——?" inquired John, sliding into the conversation. He was so apparently interested that Lady Rachel looked at him with a pleased expression on her somewhat foolish face.

"I am afraid, Mr. Treves, I ought not to chatter about it. But being behind the scenes, and knowing so many people one naturally picks up little bits of news here and there. It is quite easy to piece the bits together. I have not heard anything actually about the new cruiser," she said, "theMalta, I mean, but from things Commander Loyson said to Derrick, and from other things I have heard, I can assure you it is something wonderful."

John, listening to her chatter, wondered how much of this information she had, out of sheer vanity, passed on to Mrs. Beecher Monmouth.

Lady Rachel Marvin certainly knew a great number of people, and her social position gave her many chances to pick up exclusive information. Her silly, butterfly existence consisted in flitting from one drawing-room to another. Here she exchanged such gossip as she had been able to collect from her equally frivolous friends. As John listened to her he realised that such women as Lady Rachel are a real source of danger to the nation.

When dinner was at an end Lady Rachel went to speak to some friends at another table, and the minute she had gone Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned her attention solely to John, ignoring Mrs. Pomfret Bond and the "Ogre."

"Naughty boy," said Mrs. Beecher Monmouth under her breath. "Why have you never been to see me?"

"I have been in the Isle of Wight visiting my father," answered John promptly.

"I know that," answered she; "therefore, and because you sent me those Russian cigarettes, I intend to forgive you! Now, you must come and see me soon," she went on, "there are many things I want to talk to you about."

"I should like to talk to you about quite a number of things," responded John in the same intimate tone.

"When can you come?" asked she.

"Any time you like."

"Not to-morrow, the 'Ogre' will be at home then," she said, in a voice too low for Mr. Beecher Monmouth to catch. "Don't you think he is looking very old and worn?"

John glanced at Beecher Monmouth's glazed countenance and tired eyes, and even at that moment the elderly politician was looking adoringly at his wife, admiring the richness of her hair, the fine contour of her shoulders, and the brilliance of her complexion. John felt almost sorry for the befooled and weary Member of Parliament, who had sold his old age and his happiness into the bondage of this woman.

"Come to tea the day after to-morrow," said Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, and John accepted the invitation with alacrity.

Two days later when he presented himself at five o'clock in the afternoon at Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's residence in Grosvenor Square, he was ushered immediately into the lady's boudoir.

He had seen that room only in the illumination of the pink-shaded electric light, now he saw it again in daylight, and found it even more luxurious than he had imagined—the white polar-bear rug, the brilliant-hued Chinesekakemonoshung on the wall behind Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's divan, the long gilt-framed mirrors, and gilt-legged chairs all conspired to create an atmosphere of sumptuous richness. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth in an afternoon gown which gave her almost a slender and distinguished appearance, was seated in a low arm-chair. Lady Rachel Marvin occupied the divan, and John, much as he disliked this foolish ox-eyed woman of fashion, was obliged to admit that she had disposed herself gracefully upon the cushions. The third guest was Mrs. Pomfret Bond, who was delighted to be in that society, and talked as much military gossip as she could to show that she, too, was in the swim.

When John had been cordially received, and had accepted a cup of tea and a fragment of bread and butter, he seated himself at the foot of the divan and entered into conversation with Lady Rachel. Under orders from Dacent Smith he had come there with that express purpose.

"We have been talking of the dreadful news, Mr. Treves," said Lady Rachel, biting a slip of bread and butter with long sharp teeth.

"You mean the sinking of theMalta?" inquired John.

"Yes, how appalling it is," said she. "I heard it before it appeared in the papers."

"It's one of the worst disasters we have had for some time," responded John; "a new ship costing a million pounds of public money, and two hundred fine lives."

Mrs. Pomfret Bond spoke up indignantly.

"I can't imagine how the Germans find out about our ships. We're supposed to have an Intelligence Department. Why don't they put a stop to this sort of thing?"

"I expect they do the best they can," remarked John.

"But one always has to reckon with spies," said Mrs. Pomfret Bond.

"Of course," said John.

"But theMaltawas a new vessel," observed Mrs. Beecher Monmouth; "how could they find out when she was to leave ——?"

"The Germans must have found out," intervened Lady Rachel, claiming the conversation again, "for no submarines had been in those waters for weeks, and they had been swept for mines the day before. I know this for a fact."

John looked at her keenly. That afternoon he had had a long conversation with Dacent Smith in regard to Lady Rachel Marvin. The fact that she had, two days ago, mentioned theMaltaduring her irresponsible chatter at dinner, had aroused a suspicion in John's mind that possibly the disaster which had happened to the new cruiser had been directly due to her foolish vanity—to her ineradicable desire to obtain social distinction by revealing to her friends her superior knowledge of what went on behind the scenes. This idea, as he sat in her presence now, listening to her talk, grew in strength, and at the first opportunity that occurred, he drew Mrs. Beecher Monmouth aside. He knew that he was venturing upon very thin ice in putting questions to her.

"Well, you bad boy," whispered Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, "why have you been trying to flirt with Lady Rachel?"

John had seated himself on a low Turkish stool at her side.

"How could I see Lady Rachel when you are in the room?" he answered, gallantly.

"If you only meant it," responded Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, "I'd give you two pieces of sugar in your next cup of tea!"

"Lady Rachel cannot hold a candle to you," affirmed John.

"You mustn't be hard on her," returned Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. In the afternoon light the "Ogre's" wife looked scarcely twenty-five, a remarkably beautiful and imperious woman. Even John was obliged to confess that no fault existed in her passionate and somewhat sensuous beauty. For her part, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was so used to admiration that she accepted John's flattery as a matter of course. Bernard Treves, she told herself, was one of the strings to her bow, and quite the nicest-looking boy of them all. "You mustn't be hard on poor Lady Rachel," she said; "she is such a dear, delightful chatterbox."

"Lady Rachel seems to know a good deal about theMalta."'

Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned her eyes and fixed her gaze swiftly upon him; then she remarked, quietly:

"One of her relations is a big-wig at the Admiralty."

"That fact, and what she picked up from other of her naval friends, enabled her," said John, "to give a guess at when theMaltawould leave ——"

Mrs. Beecher Monmouth became suddenly very still.

"How did you know that, Bernard?" she asked.

John observed a hardening of the line of her mouth.

"I merely put two and two together and assumed it," he said. Then, quietly daring, he leaned forward, unobserved by others in the room, and seized Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's hand.

"Is it true?" he questioned.

She looked at him a long minute, and then smiled, but there was a cruel light in her eyes.

"It is true," pursued John.

A silence followed; then Mrs. Beecher Monmouth inclined her fine head very slightly. John was dexterous enough not to slide his hand away from hers too soon. The aversion he felt from her made him remove it as soon as he reasonably could. Then he drew in a deep breath.

"I see," he said, in a low voice, "she told you when theMaltawas to sail."

And though Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was too cautious to admit the fact, John knew in his heart that it was absolutely true. Lady Rachel, exercising her silly desire for gossip, had been tricked into imparting this fatal information. Because of this she was, John believed, just as much responsible for the sinking of theMaltaas if she herself had discharged the torpedo which wrought its doom. She was, in fact, an unwitting traitor to her country. And John, as he moved from Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's side, felt a certain implacable animosity towards this vain society woman, with her wide eyes, her high-pitched voice, her elegant aristocratic poses.

Nevertheless, he was politeness itself as he drew her towards the window.

"I'd like to have a word with you alone, Lady Rachel," he said.

When they were out of earshot of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth and Mrs. Pomfret Bond, John lowered his voice, and looked down into the big, long-lashed eyes.

"You were speaking a few minutes ago, Lady Rachel," he said, "of theMalta."

Lady Rachel smiled and nodded.

"I think," went on John, "I ought to inform you that I am a member of the Intelligence Department!"

"Oh, are you really?" exclaimed Lady Rachel, looking at him with a sudden vivid interest. "I have so often wanted to meet some one in the secret service. I think you all so splendid!"

"I am glad you appreciate us," John answered dryly; "perhaps, Lady Rachel," he went on, "you would like to know more about our department?"

"I should love it dearly," said she, with an expression of delight on her weakly pretty features.

"Well," said John, "if you care to accompany me to my office in a few minutes, I will present you to my Chief. He has already expressed a wish to meet you."

Lady Rachel looked puzzled for a moment.

"Perhaps I know him, Mr. Treves. I may have met him in society. I suppose I mustn't ask his name?" she added mysteriously.

"No, don't ask his name," answered John.

Ten minutes later Lady Rachel Marvin was seated beside John in a taxi. The vehicle glided out of Grosvenor Place and passed Green Park.

"Why are you looking so grim?" observed the lady. as John leaned back with folded arms.

"I am thinking of theMaltaand of the two hundred fine fellows who were drowned yesterday."

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