She looked up, and even he was shocked, taken aback, by the strange look on her face. It was a look of dreadful understanding, of fear, and of pain. “I do understand,” she said in a low voice.
“If you do what I tell you, nothing will happen to you,” he exclaimed impatiently, but more kindly than he had yet spoken. “You will only be sent home, deported, as they call it. If you are thinking of your money in the Savings Bank, that they will not allow you to take. But without doubt your ladies will take care of it for you till this cursed war is over. So you see you have nothing to fear if you do what I tell you. So now good-bye, Frau Bauer. I’ll go and tell them that you know nothing, that I have been not able to get anything out of you. Is that so?”
“Yes,” she answered apathetically.
Giving one more quick look at her bowed head, he went across and knocked loudly at the cell door.
There was a little pause, and then the door opened. It opened just wide enough to let him out.
And then, just for a moment, Alfred Head felt a slight tremor of discomfort, for the end of the passage, that is, farther down, some way past Anna’s cell, now seemed full of men. There stood the chief local police inspector and three or four policemen, as well as the gentleman from London.
It was the latter who first spoke. He came forward, towards Alfred Head. “Well,” he said rather sternly,“I presume that you’ve been able to get nothing from the old woman?”
And Mr. Head answered glibly enough, “That’s quite correct, sir. There is evidently nothing to be got out of her. As you yourself said, sir, not long ago, this old woman has only been a tool.”
The two policemen were now walking one each side of him, and it seemed to Alfred Head as if he were being hustled along towards the hall where there generally stood, widely open, the doors leading out on to the steps to the Market Place.
He told himself that he would be very glad to get out into the open air and collect his thoughts. He did not believe that his old fellow-countrywoman would, to use a vulgar English colloquialism, “give him away.” But still, he would not feel quite at ease till she was safely deported and out of the way.
The passage was rather a long one, and he began to feel a curious, nervous craving to reach the end of it—to be, that is, out in the hall.
But just before they reached the end of the passage the men about him closed round Alfred Head. He felt himself seized, it seemed to him from every side, not roughly, but with a terribly strong muscular grip.
“What is this?” he cried in a loud voice. Even as he spoke, he wondered if he could be dreaming—if this was the horrible after effect of the strain he had just gone through.
For a moment only he struggled, and then, suddenly, he submitted. He knew what it was he wished to save; it was the watch chain to which were attached the two keys of the safe in his bedroom. He wore them among a bunch of old-fashioned Georgian seals which he had acquired in the way of business, and he had had the keys gilt, turned to a dull gold colour, to match theseals. It was possible, just possible, that they might escape the notice of these thick-witted men about him.
“What does this mean?” he demanded; and then he stopped, for there rose a distant sound of crying and screaming in the quiet place.
“What is that?” he cried, startled.
The police inspector came forward; he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to tell you, Head”—he spoke quite civilly, even kindly—“that we’ve had to arrest your wife, too.”
“This is too much! She is a child—a mere child! Innocent as a baby unborn. An Englishwoman, too, as you know well, Mr. Watkins. They must be all mad in this town—it is quite mad to suspect my poor little Polly!”
The inspector was a kindly man, naturally humane, and he had known the prisoner for a considerable number of years. As for poor Polly, he had always been acquainted with her family, and had seen her grow up from a lovely child into a very pretty girl.
“Look here!” he said. “It’s no good kicking up a row. Unluckily for her, they found the key with which they opened your safe in her possession. D’you take my meaning?”
Alfred Head grew rather white. “That’s impossible!” he said confidently. “There are but two keys, and I have them both.”
The other looked at him with a touch of pity. “There must have been a third key,” he said slowly.“I’ve got it here myself. It was hidden away in an old-fashioned dressing-case. Besides, Mrs. Head didn’t put up any fight. But if she can prove, as she says, that she knows no German, and that you didn’t know she had a key of the safe—for that’s what she says—well, that’ll help her, of course.”
“But there’s nothinginthe safe,” Head objected, quickly, “nothing of what might be called an incriminating nature, Mr. Watkins. Only business letters and papers, and all of them sent me before the War.”
The other man looked at him, and hesitated. He had gone quite as far as old friendship allowed. “That’s as may be,” he said cautiously. “I know nothing of all that. They’ve been sealed up, and are going off to London. What caused you to be arrested, Mr. Head—this much I may tell you—is information which was telephoned down to that London gentleman half an hour ago. But it was just an accident that the key Mrs. Head had hidden away was found so quickly—just a bit of bad luck for her, if I may say so.”
“Then I suppose I shan’t be allowed to see Polly?” There was a tone of extreme dejection in the voice.
“Well, we’ll see about that! I’ll see what I can do for you. You’re not to be charged till to-morrow morning. Then you’ll be charged along with that man—the man who came to the Trellis House this morning. He’s been found too. He went straight to those Pollits—you follow my meaning? Mrs. Pollit is the daughter of that old German woman. I never could abideher! Often and often I said to my missis, as I see her go crawling about, ‘There’s a German as is taking away a good job from an English woman.’ So she was. Well, I must now tell them where to take you. And I’m afraid you’ll have to be stripped and searched—that’s the order in these kind of cases.”
Alfred Head nodded. “I don’t mind,” he saidstoutly. “I’m an innocent man.” But he had clenched his teeth together when he had heard the name of Pollit uttered so casually. If Pollit told all he knew, then the game was indeed up.
Afterthe door had shut behind Alfred Head, Anna Bauer sat on, quite motionless, awhile. What mind was left to her, after the terrifying and agonising interview she had just had, was absorbed in the statement made to her concerning Jervis Blake.
She remembered, with blinding clearness, the afternoon that Rose had come into her kitchen to say in a quiet, toneless voice, “They think, Anna, that they will have to take off his foot.” She saw, as clearly as if her nursling were there in this whitewashed little cell, the look of desolate, dry-eyed anguish which had filled Rose’s face.
But that false quietude had only lasted a few moments, for, in response to her poor old Anna’s exclamation of horror and of sympathy, Rose Otway had flung herself into her nurse’s arms, and had lain there shivering and crying till the sound of the front door opening to admit her mother had forced her to control herself.
Anna’s mind travelled wearily on, guided by reproachful memory through a maze of painful recollections. Once more she stood watching the strange marriage ceremony—trying hard, aye, and succeeding, to obey Sir Jacques’s strict injunction. More than one of those present had glanced over at her, Anna, very kindly during that trying half-hour. How would they then have looked at her if they had known what she knew now?
She lived again as in long drawn-out throbs of painthe piteous days which had followed Mr. Blake’s operation.
Rose had not allowed herself one word of fret or of repining; but on three different nights during that first week, she had got out of bed and wandered about the house, till Anna, hearing the quiet, stuffless sounds of bare feet, had come out, and leading the girl into the still warm kitchen, had comforted her.
It was Anna who had spoken to Sir Jacques, and suggested the sleeping draught which had finally broken that evil waking spell—Anna who, far more than Rose’s own mother, had sustained and heartened the poor child during those dreadful days of reaction which followed on the brave front she had shown at the crisis of the operation.
And now Anna had to face the horrible fact that it was she who had brought this dreadful suffering, this—this lifelong misfortune, on the being she loved more than she had ever loved anything in the world. If this was true, and in her heart she knew it to be true, then she did indeed deserve to hang. A shameful death would be nothing in comparison to the agony of fearing that her darling might come to learn the truth.
The door of the cell suddenly opened, and a man came in, carrying a tray in his hands. On it were a jug of coffee, some milk, sugar, bread and butter, and a plateful of cold meat.
He put it down by the old woman’s side. “Look here!” he said. “Your lady, Mrs. Guthrie as she is now, thought you’d rather have coffee than tea—so we’ve managed to get some for you.”
And, as Anna burst into loud sobs,“There, there!” he said good-naturedly. “I daresay you’ll be all right—don’t you be worrying yourself.” He lowered his voice: “Though there are some as says that what they found in your back kitchen this morning was enough to have blown up all Witanbury sky high! Quite a good few don’t think you knew anything about it—and if you didn’t, you’ve nothing to fear. You’ll be treated quite fair; so now you sit up, and make a good supper!”
She stared at him without speaking, and he went on: “You won’t be having this sort of grub in Darneford Gaol, you know!” As she again looked at him with no understanding, he added by way of explanation: “After you’ve been charged to-morrow, it’s there they’ll send you, I expect, to wait for the Assizes.”
“So?” she said stupidly.
“You just sit up and enjoy your supper! You needn’t hurry over it. I shan’t be this way again for an hour or so.” And then he went out and shut the door.
For almost the first time in her life, Anna Bauer did not feel as if she wanted to eat good food set before her. But she poured out a cup of coffee, and drank it just as it was, black and bitter, without putting either milk or sugar to it.
Then she stood up. The coffee had revived her, cleared her brain, and she looked about her with awakened, keener perceptions.
It was beginning to get dark, but it was a fine evening, and there was still light enough to see by. She looked up consideringly at the old-fashioned iron gas bracket, placed in the middle of the ceiling, just abovethe wooden chair on which her gracious lady had sat during the last part of their conversation.
Anna took from the bench where she had been sitting the crochet in which she had been interrupted.
She had lately been happily engaged in making a beautiful band of crochet lace which was destined to serve as trimming for Mrs. Jervis Blake’s dressing-table. The band was now very nearly finished; there were over three yards of it done. Worked in the best and strongest linen thread, it was the kind of thing which would last, even if it were cleaned very frequently, for years and years, and which would grow finer with cleaning.
The band was neatly rolled up and pinned, to keep it clean and nice; but now Anna slowly unpinned and unrolled it.
Yes, it was a beautiful piece of work; rather coarser than what she was accustomed to do, but then she knew that Miss Rose preferred the coarser to the very fine crochet.
She tested a length of it with a sharp pull, and the result was wonderful—from her point of view most gratifying! It hardly gave at all. She remembered how ill her mistress had succeeded when she, Anna, had tried to teach her to do this kind of work some sixteen to seventeen years ago. After a very little while Mrs. Otway had given up trying to do it, knowing that she could never rival her good old Anna. Mrs. Otway’s lace had been so rough, so uneven; a tiny pull, and it became all stringy and out of shape.
Yes, whatever strain were put on this band, it would surely recover—recover, that is, if it were dealt with as she, Anna, would deal with such a piece of work. Itwould have to be damped and stretched out on a piece of oiled silk, and each point fastened down with a pin. Then an almost cold iron would have to be passed over it, with a piece of clean flannel in between....
Ateight o’clock the same evening, Mr. Reynolds and Mr. Hayley were eating a hasty meal in the Trellis House. James Hayley had been compelled to stay on till the last train back to town, for on him the untoward events of the day had entailed a good deal of trouble. He had had to put off his cousin’s tenants, find lodgings for their two servants, and arrange quarters for the policeman who, pending inquiries, was guarding the contents of Anna’s bedroom.
A charwoman had been found with the help of Mrs. Haworth. But when this woman had been asked—her name was Bent, and she was a verger’s wife—to provide a little supper for two gentlemen, she had demurred, and said it was impossible. Then, at last, she had volunteered to cook two chops and boil some potatoes. But she had explained that nothing further must be expected of her; she was not used to waiting at table.
The two young men were thus looking after themselves in the pretty dining-room. Mr. Reynolds, who was not as particular as his companion, and who, as a matter of fact, had had no luncheon, thought the chop quite decent. In fact, he was heartily enjoying his supper, for he was very hungry.
“I daresay all you say concerning Anna Bauer’s powers of cooking, of saving, of mending, and of cleaning, are quite true!” he exclaimed, with a laugh.“But believe me, Mr. Hayley, she’s a wicked old woman! Of course I shall know a great deal more about her to-morrow morning. But I’ve already been able to gather a good deal to-day. There’s been a regular nest of spies in this town, with antennæ stretching out over the whole of this part of the southwest coast. Would you be surprised to learn that your cousin’s good old Anna has a married daughter in the business—a daughter married to an Englishman?”
“You don’t mean George Pollit?” asked James Hayley eagerly.
“Yes—that’s the man’s name! Why, d’you know him?”
“I should think I do! I helped to get him out of a scrape last year. He’s a regular rascal.”
“Aye, that he is indeed. He’s acted as post office to this man Hegner. It’s he, the fellow they call Alfred Head, the Dean’s friend, the city councillor, who has been the master spy.” Again he laughed, this time rather unkindly. “I think we’ve got the threads of it all in our hands by now. You see, we found this man Pollit’s address among the very few papers which were discovered at that Spaniard’s place near Southampton. A sharp fellow went to Pollit’s shop, and the man didn’t put up any fight at all. They’re fools to employ that particular Cockney type. I suppose they chose him because his wife is German——”
There came a loud ring at the front door, and James Hayley jumped up. “I’d better see what that is,” he said. “The woman we’ve got here is such a fool!”
He went out into the hall, and found Rose Blake.
“We heard about Anna just after we got to London,” she said breathlessly.“A man in the train mentioned it to Jervis quite casually, while speaking of mother’s wedding. So we came back at once to hear what had really happened and to see if we could do anything. Oh, James, what a dreadful thing! Of course she’s innocent—it’s absurd to think anything else. Where is she? Can I go and see her now, at once? She must be in a dreadful state. I do feel so miserable about her!”
“You’d better come in here,” he said quietly. It was odd what a sharp little stab at the heart it gave him to see Rose looking so like herself—so like the girl he had hoped in time to make his wife. And yet so different too—so much softer, sweeter, and with a new radiance in her face.
He asked sharply, “By the way, where’s your husband?”
“He’s with the Robeys. I preferred to come here alone.”
She followed him into the dining-room.
“This is Mr. Reynolds,—Mr. Reynolds, my cousin Mrs. Blake!” He waited uncomfortably, impatiently, while they shook hands, and then: “I’m afraid you’re going to have a shock——” he exclaimed, and, suddenly softening, looked at her with a good deal of concern in his face. “There’s very little doubt, Rose, that Anna Bauer is guilty.”
“I’m sure she’s not,” said Rose stoutly. She looked across at the stranger. “You must forgive me for speaking like this,” she said, “but you see old Anna was my nurse, and I really do know her very well.”
As she glanced from the one grave face to the other, her own shadowed. “Is it very very serious?” she asked, with a catch in her clear voice.
“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”
“Oh, James, do try and get leave for me to see her to-night—even for only a moment.”
She turned to the other man; somehow she felt that she had a better chance there. “I have been in great trouble lately,” she said, in a low tone, “and but for Anna Bauer I don’t know how I should have got through it. That is why I feel Imustgo to her now in her trouble.”
“We’ll see what can be done,” said Mr. Reynolds kindly. “It may be easier to arrange for you to see her to-night than it would be to-morrow, after she has been charged.”
When they reached the Market Place they saw that there were a good many idlers still standing about near the steps leading up to the now closed door of the Council House.
“You had better wait down here while I go and see about it,” said James Hayley quickly. He did not like the thought of Rose standing among the sort of people who were lingering, like noisome flies round a honey-pot, under the great portico.
And when he had left them standing together in the great space under the stars, Rose turned to the stranger with whom she somehow felt in closer sympathy than with her own cousin.
“What makes you think our old servant was a——” she broke off. She could not bear to use the word “spy.”
“I’ll tell you,” he said slowly,“what has convinced me. But keep this for the present to yourself, Mrs. Blake, for I have said nothing of it to Mr. Hayley. Quite at the beginning of the War, it was arranged that all telegrams addressed to the Continent should be sent to the head telegraph office in London for examination. Now within the first ten days one hundred and four messages, sent, I should add, to a hundred and four different addresses, were worded as follows——” He waited a moment. “Are you following what I say, Mrs. Blake?”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “I think I understand. You are telling me about some telegrams—a great many telegrams——”
But she was asking herself how this complicated story could be connected with Anna Bauer.
“Well, I repeat that a hundred and four telegrams were worded almost exactly alike: ’Father can come back on about 14th. Boutet is expecting him.’”
Rose looked up at him. “Yes?” she said hesitatingly. She was completely at a loss.
“Well, your old German servant, Mrs. Blake, sent one of these telegrams on Monday, August 10th. She explained that a stranger she met in the street had asked her to send it off. She was, it seems, kept under observation for a little while, after her connection with this telegram had been discovered, but in all the circumstances, the fact she was in your mother’s service, and so on, she was given the benefit of the doubt.”
“But—but I don’t understand even now?” said Rose slowly.
“I’ll explain. All these messages were from German agents in this country, who wished to tell their employers about the secret despatch of our Expeditionary Force. ‘Boutet’ meant Boulogne. Of course we have no clue at all as to how your old servant got the information.”
Rose suddenly remembered the day when Major Guthrie had come to say good-bye. A confused feeling of horror, of pity, and of vicarious shame swept over her. For the first time in her young life she was glad of the darkness which hid her face from her companion.
The thought of seeing Anna now filled her with repugnance and shrinking pain. “I—I understand what you mean,” she said slowly.
“You must remember that she is a German. She probably regards herself in the light of a heroine!”
The minutes dragged by, and it seemed to Mr. Reynolds that they had been waiting there at least half an hour, when at last he saw with relief the tall slim figure emerge through the great door of the Council House. Very deliberately James Hayley walked down the stone steps, and came towards them. When he reached the place where the other two were standing, waiting for him, he looked round as if to make sure that there was no one within earshot.
“Rose,” he said huskily—and he also was consciously glad of the darkness, for he had just gone through what had been, to one of his highly civilised and fastidious temperament, a most trying ordeal—“Rose, I’m sorry to bring you bad news. Anna Bauer is dead. The poor old woman has hanged herself. As a matter of fact, it was I—I and the inspector of police—who found her. We managed to get a doctor in through one of the side entrances—but it was of no use.”
Rose said no word. She stood quite still, overwhelmed, bewildered with the horror, and, to her, the pain, of the thing she had just heard.
And then, suddenly, there fell, shaft-like, athwartthe still, dark air, the sound of muffled thuds, falling quickly in rhythmical sequence, on the brick-paved space which melted away into the darkness to their left.
“What’s that?” exclaimed Mr. Reynolds. His nerves also were shaken by the news which he had just heard; but even as he spoke he saw that the sound which seemed so strange, so—so sinister, was caused by a tall figure only now coming out of the shadows away across the Market Place. What puzzled Mr. Reynolds was the man’s very peculiar gait. He seemed, if one can use such a contradiction in terms, to be at once crawling and swinging along.
“It’s my husband!”
Rose Blake raised her head. A wavering gleam of light fell on her pale, tear-stained face, and showed it suddenly as if illumined, glowing from within: “He’s never been so far by himself before—I must go to him!”
She began walking swiftly—almost running—to meet that strangely slow yet leaping figure, which was becoming more and more clearly defined among the deeply shaded gas lamps which stood at wide intervals in the great space round them.
Then, all at once, they heard the eager, homing cry, “Rose?” and the answering cry, “Jervis?” and the two figures seemed to become merged till they formed one, together.