CHAPTER VIII.THE WHITE PAPER PACKAGEA taxi was waiting in Pall Mall outside the club and Desmond hailed it, though secretly wondering what the driver would think of taking him out to Seven Kings. Rather to his surprise, the man was quite affable, took the address of the house where Barbara was staying with her friends and bade Desmond “hop in.” Presently, for the second time that day, he was heading for the Mile End Road.As they zigzagged in and out of the traffic, Desmond’s thoughts were busy with the extraordinary mission entrusted to him. So he was to sink his own identity and don that of an Anglo-German business man, his appearance, accent, habits, everything. The difficulties of the task positively made him cold with fear. The man must have relations, friends, business acquaintances who would be sufficiently familiar with his appearance and manner to penetrate, at any rate in the long run, the most effective disguise. What did Bellward look like? Where did he live? How was he, Desmond, to disguise himself to resemble him? And, above all, when this knotty problem of make-up had been settled, how was he to proceed? What should be his first step to pick out from among all the millions of London’s teeming populace the one obscure individual who headed and directed this gang of spies?Why hadn’t he asked the Chief all these questions? What an annoying man the Chief was to deal with to be sure! All said and done, what had he actually told Desmond? That there was a German Secret service organization spying on the movements of troops to France, that this man, Basil Bellward, who had been arrested, was one of the gang and that the dancer, Nur-el-Din, was in some way implicated in the affair! And that was the extent of his confidence! On the top of all this fog of obscurity rested the dense cloud surrounding the murder of old Mackwayte with the unexplained, the fantastic, clue of that single hair pointing back to Nur-el-Din.Desmond consoled himself finally by saying that he would be able too get some light on his mission from Barbara Mackwayte, whom he judged to be in the Chief’s confidence. But here he was doomed to disappointment. Barbara could tell him practically nothing save what he already knew, that they were to work together in this affair. Like him, she was waiting for her instructions.Barbara received him in a neat little suburban drawing-room in the house of her friends, who lived a few streets away from the Mackwaytes. She was wearing a plainly-made black crêpe de chine dress which served to accentuate the extreme pallor of her face, the only outward indication of the great shock she had sustained. She was perfectly calm and collected, otherwise, and she stopped Desmond who would have murmured some phrases of condolence.“Ah, no, please,” she said, “I don’t think I can speak about it yet.”She pulled a chair over for him and began to talk about the Chief.“There’s not the least need for you to worry,” she said with a little woeful smile, like a sun-ray piercing a rain-cloud, “if the Chief says ‘Go back to France and wait for instructions,’ you may be sure that everything is arranged, and you will receive your orders in due course. So shall I. That’s the Chief all over. Until you know him, you think he loves mystery for mystery’s sake. It isn’t that at all. He just doesn’t trust us. He trusts nobody!”“But that hardly seems fair to us...” began Desmond.“It’s merely a precaution,” replied Barbara, “the Chief takes no risks. I’ve not the least doubt that he has decided to tell you nothing whatsoever about your part until you are firmly settled in your new role. I’m perfectly certain that every detail of your part has already been worked out.”“Oh, that’s not possible,” said Desmond. “Why, he didn’t know until an hour ago that I was going to take on this job.”Barbara laughed.“The Chief has taught me a lot about judging men by their looks,” she said: “Personally, if I’d been in the Chief’s places I should have gone ahead without consulting you, too.”The girl spoke with such directness that there was not the least suggestion of a compliment in her remark, but Desmond blushed to the roots of his hair. Barbara noticed it and added hastily:“I’m not trying to pay you a compliment: I’m just judging by your type. I believe I can always tell the man that will take on any job, however dangerous, and carry it through to the end.”Desmond blushed more furiously than ever.He made haste to divert the conversation into a safer channel.“Well,” he said slowly, “seeing that you and I were intended to work together, it seems to me to be a most extraordinary coincidence our meeting like that last night...”“It was more than a coincidence,” said Barbara, shaking her dark brown head. “Forty-eight hours ago I’d never heard of you, then the Chief gave me a telegram to send to your Divisional General summoning you home, after that he told me that we were to work together, and a few hours later I run into you in Nur-el-Din’s dressing-room...”She broke off suddenly, her gray eyes big with fear. She darted across the room to an ormolu table on which her handbag was lying. With astonishment, Desmond watched her unceremoniously spill out the contents on to the table and rake hastily amongst the collection of articles which a pretty girl carries round in her bag.Presently she raised herself erect and turning, faced the officer. She was trembling as though with cold and when she spoke, her voice was low and husky.“Gone!” she whispered.“Have you lost anything” Desmond asked anxiously.“How could I have forgotten it?” she went on as though he had not spoken, “how could I have forgotten it? Nearly twelve hours wasted, and it explains everything. What will the Chief think of me!”Slowly she sank down on the sofa where she had been sitting, then, without any warning, dropped her head into her hands and burst into tears.Desmond went over to her.“Please don’t cry,” he said gently, “you have borne up so bravely against this terrible blow; you must try and not let it overwhelm you.”All her business-like calm had disappeared now she was that most distracting of all pictures of woman, a pretty girl overwhelmed with grief. She crouched curled upon the sofa, with shoulders heaving, sobbing as though her heart would break.“Perhaps you would like me to leave you?” Desmond asked. “Let me ring for your friends... I am sure you would rather be alone!”She raised a tear-stained face to his, her long lashes glittering.“No, no,” she said, “don’t go, don’t go! I want your help. This is such a dark and dreadful business, more than I ever realized. Oh, my poor daddy, my poor daddy!”Again she hid her face in her hands and cried whilst Desmond stood erect by her aide, compassionate but very helpless.After a little, she dabbed her eyes with a tiny square of cambric, and sitting up, surveyed the other.“I must go to the Chief at once,” she said, “it is most urgent. Would you ring and ask the maid to telephone for a taxi?”“I have one outside,” answered Desmond. “But won’t you tell me what has happened?”“Why,” said Barbara, “it has only just dawned on me why our house was broken into last night and poor daddy so cruelly murdered! Whoever robbed the house did not come after our poor little bits of silver or daddy’s savings in the desk in the dining room. They came after something that I had!”“And what was that” asked Desmond.Then Barbara told him of her talk with Nur-el-Din in the dancer’s dressing-room on the previous evening and of the package which Nur-el-Din had entrusted to her care.“This terrible business put it completely out of my head,” said Barbara. “In the presence of the police this morning, I looked over my bedroom and even searched my hand-bag which the police sent back to me this afternoon without finding that the burglars had stolen anything. It was only just now, when we were talking about our meeting in Nur-el-Din’s room last night, that her little package suddenly flashed across my mind. And then I looked through my handbag again and convinced myself that it was not there.”“But are you sure the police haven’t taken it?”“Absolutely certain,” was the reply. “I remember perfectly what was in my hand-bag this morning when I went through it, and the same things are on that table over there now.”“Do you know what was in this package!” said Desmond.“Just a small silver box, oblong and quite plain, about so big,” she indicated the size with her hands, “about as large as a cigarette-box. Nur-el-Din said it was a treasured family possession of hers, and she was afraid of losing it as she traveled about so much. She asked me to say nothing about it and to keep it until the war was over or until she asked me for it.”“Then,” said Desmond, “this clears Nur-el-Din!”“What do you mean,” said Barbara, looking up.“Simply that she wouldn’t have broken into your place and killed your father in order to recover her own package...”“But why on earth should Nur-el-Din be suspected of such a thing?”“Have you heard nothing about this young lady from the Chief?”“Nothing. I had not thought anything about her until daddy discovered an old friend in her last night and introduced me.”The Chief’s infernal caution again! thought Desmond, secretly admiring the care with which that remarkable man, in his own phrase, “sealed both ends of every connection.”“If I’m to work with this girl,” said Desmond to himself, “I’m going to have all the cards on the table here and now,” so forthwith he told her of the Chief’s suspicions of the dancer, the letter recommending her to Bellward found when the cheese merchant had been arrested, and lastly of the black hair which had been discovered on the thongs with which Barbara had been fastened.“And now,” Desmond concluded, “the very next thing we must do is to go to the Chief and tell him about this package of Nur-el-Din’s that is missing.” Barbara interposed quickly.“It’s no use your coming,” she said. “The Chief won’t see you. When he has sent a man on his mission, he refuses to see him again until the work has been done. If he wishes to send for you or communicate with you, he will. But it’s useless for you to try and see him yourself. You can drop me at the office!”Desmond was inclined to agree with her on this point and said so.“There is one thing especially that puzzles me, Miss Mackwayte,” Desmond observed as they drove westward again, “and that is, how anyone could have known about your having this box of Nur-el-Din’s. Was there anybody else in the room when she gave you the package?”“No,” said Barbara, “I don’t think so. Wait a minute, though, Nur-el-Din’s maid must have come in very shortly after for I remember the opened the door when Captain Strangwise came to tell me daddy was waiting to take me home.”“Do you remember if Nur-el-Din actually mentioned the package in the presence of the maid!”“As far as I can recollect just as the maid opened the door to Captain Strangwise, Nur-el-Din was impressing on me again to take great care of the package. I don’t think she actually mentioned the box but I remember her pointing at my bag where I had put the package.”“The maid didn’t see Nur-el-Din give you the box?”“No, I’m sure of that. The room was empty save for us two. It was only just before Captain Strangwise knocked that I noticed Marie arranging Nur-el-Din’s dresses. She must have come in afterwards without my seeing her.”“Well then, this girl, Marie, didn’t see the dancer give you the box but she heard her refer to it. Is that right?”“Yes, and, of course, Captain Strangwise...”“What about him?”“He must have heard what Nur-el-Din was saying, too!”Desmond rubbed his chin.“I say, you aren’t going to implicate old Strangwise, too, are you?” he asked.Barbara did not reflect his smile.“He seems to know Nur-el-Din pretty well,” she said, “and I’ll tell you something else, that woman’s afraid of your friend, the Captain!”“What do you mean?” asked Desmond.“I was watching her in the glass last night as he was talking to her while you and I and daddy were chatting in the corner. I don’t know what he said to her, but she glanced over her shoulder with a look of terror in her eyes. I was watching her face in the glass. She looked positivelyhunted!”The taxi stopped. Desmond jumped out and helped his companion to alight.“Au revoir,” she said to him, “never fear, you and I will meet very soon again!”With that she was gone. Desmond looked at his watch. It pointed to a quarter to six.“Now I wonder what time the leave-train starts tonight,” he said aloud, one foot on the sideboard of the taxi.“At 7.45, sir,” said a voice.“Desmond glanced round him. Then he saw it was the taxi-driver who had spoken.“7.45, eh?” said Desmond. “From Victoria, I suppose?”“Yes, sir,” said the taxi-man.“By Jove, I haven’t much time,” ejaculated the officer “and there are some things I want to get before I go back across the Channel. And I shall have to see the Railway Transport Officer about my pass.”“That’s all right, sir,” said the taxi-man, “I have your papers here”; he handed Desmond a couple of slips of paper which he took from his coat-pocket; “those will take you back to France all right, I think you’ll find!”Desmond looked at the papers: they were quite in order and correctly filled up with his name, rank and regiment, and date.The taxi-man cut short any further question by saying:“If you’ll get into the cab again, sir, I’ll drive you where you want to go, and then wait while you have your dinner and take you to the station. By the way, your dinner’s ordered too!”“But who the devil are you?” asked Desmond in amazement.“On special service, the same as you, sir!” said the man with a grin and Desmond understood.Really, the Chief was extremely thorough.They went to the stores in the Haymarket, to Fortnum and Mason’s, and lastly, to a small, grubby shop at the back of Mayfair where Desmond and his brother had bought their cigarettes for years past. Desmond purchased a hundred of their favored brand, the Dionysus, as a reserve for his journey back to France, and stood chatting over old times with the fat, oily-faced Greek manager as the latter tied up his cigarettes into a clean white paper parcel, neatly sealed up with red sealing wax.Then Desmond drove back to the Nineveh Hotel where he left his taxi-driving colleague in the courtyard on the understanding that at 7.25 the taxi would be waiting to drive him to the station.Desmond went straight upstairs to his room to put his kit together. In the strong, firmly woven web spread by the Chief, he felt as helpless as a fly caught in a spider’s mesh. He had no idea of what his plans were. He only knew that he was going back to France, and that it was his business to get on the leave-boat that night.As he passed along the thickly carpeted, silent corridor to his room, he saw the door of Strangwise’s room standing ajar. He pushed open the door and walked in unceremoniously. A suitcase stood open on the floor with Strangwise bending over it. At his elbow was a table crowded with various parcels, a case of razors, different articles of kit, and some books. Desmond halted at the door, his box of cigarettes dangling from his finger.“Hullo, Maurice,” he said, “are you off, too?”Strangwise spun round sharply. The blood had rushed to his face, staining it with a dark, angry flush.“My God, how you startled me!” he exclaimed rather testily. “I never heard you come in!”He turned rather abruptly and went on with his packing. He struck Desmond as being rather annoyed at the intrusion; the latter had never seen him out of temper before.“Sorry if I butted in,” said Desmond, sliding his box of cigarettes off his finger on to the littered table and sitting down on a chair. “I came in to say good-bye. I’m going back to France to-night!”Maurice looked round quickly. He appeared to be quite his old self again and was all smiles now.“So soon?” he said. “Why, I thought you were getting a job at the War Office!”Desmond shook his head.“Not good enough,” he replied, “it’s back to the sandbags for mine. But where are you off to?”“Got a bit of leave; the Intelligence folk seem to be through with me at last, so they’ve given me six weeks!”“Going to the country” asked Desmond.Strangwise nodded.“Yep,” he said, “down to Essex to see if I can get a few duck or snipe on the fens. I wish you were coming with me!”“So do I, old man,” echoed Desmond heartily. Then he added in a serious voice:“By the way, I haven’t seen you since last night. What a shocking affair this is about old Mackwayte, isn’t it? Are there any developments, do you know?”Strangwise very deliberately fished a cigarette out of his case which was lying open on the table and lit it before replying.“A very dark affair,” he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke and flicking the match into the grate. “You are discreet, I know, Okewood. The Intelligence people had me up this morning... to take my evidence...”Strangwise’s surmise about Desmond’s discretion was perfectly correct. With Desmond Okewood discretion was second nature, and therefore he answered with feigned surprise: “Your evidence about what? About our meeting the Mackwaytes last night?”After he had spoken he realized he had blundered. Surely, after all, the Chief would have told Strangwise about their investigations at Seven Kings. Still...“No,” replied Strangwise, “but about Nur-el-Din!”The Chief had kept his own counsel about their morning’s work. Desmond was glad now that he had dissimulated.“You see, I know her pretty well,” Strangwise continued, “between ourselves, I got rather struck on the lady when she was touring in Canada some years ago, and in fact I spent so much more money than I could afford on her that I had to discontinue the acquaintance. Then I met her here when I got away from Germany a month ago; she was lonely, so I took her about a bit. Okewood, I’m afraid I was rather indiscreet.”“How do you mean?” Desmond asked innocently.“Well,” said Strangwise slowly, contemplating the end of his cigarette, “it appears that the lady is involved in certain activities which considerably interest our Intelligence. But there, I mustn’t say any more!”“But how on earth is Nur-el-what’s her name concerned in this murder, Maurice?”Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.“Ah, you’d better ask the police. But I tell you she’ll be getting into trouble if she’s not careful!”Throughout this conversation Desmond seemed to hear in his ears Barbara’s words: “That woman’s afraid of your friend!” He divined that for some reason or other, Strangwise wanted to create a bad impression in his mind about the dancer. He scanned Maurice’s face narrowly. Its impenetrability was absolute. There was nothing to be gleaned from those careless, smiling features.“Well,” said Desmond, getting up, “nous verrons. I shall have to make a bolt for it now if I don’t want to miss my train. Good-bye, Maurice, and I hope you’ll get some birds!”“Thanks, old man. Au revoir, and take care of yourself. My salaams to the General!”.They shook hands warmly, then Desmond grabbed his box of cigarettes in its neat white wrapper with the bold red seals and hurried off to his room.Strangwise stood for a moment gazing after him. He was no longer the frank, smiling companion of a minute before. His mouth was set hard and his chin stuck out at a defiant angle.He bent over the table and picked up a white paper package sealed with bold red seals. He poised it for a moment in his hands while a flicker of a smile stole into the narrow eyes and played for an instant round the thin lips. Then, with a quick movement, he thrust the little package into the side pocket of his tunic and buttoned the flap.Whistling a little tune, he went on with his packing.
A taxi was waiting in Pall Mall outside the club and Desmond hailed it, though secretly wondering what the driver would think of taking him out to Seven Kings. Rather to his surprise, the man was quite affable, took the address of the house where Barbara was staying with her friends and bade Desmond “hop in.” Presently, for the second time that day, he was heading for the Mile End Road.
As they zigzagged in and out of the traffic, Desmond’s thoughts were busy with the extraordinary mission entrusted to him. So he was to sink his own identity and don that of an Anglo-German business man, his appearance, accent, habits, everything. The difficulties of the task positively made him cold with fear. The man must have relations, friends, business acquaintances who would be sufficiently familiar with his appearance and manner to penetrate, at any rate in the long run, the most effective disguise. What did Bellward look like? Where did he live? How was he, Desmond, to disguise himself to resemble him? And, above all, when this knotty problem of make-up had been settled, how was he to proceed? What should be his first step to pick out from among all the millions of London’s teeming populace the one obscure individual who headed and directed this gang of spies?
Why hadn’t he asked the Chief all these questions? What an annoying man the Chief was to deal with to be sure! All said and done, what had he actually told Desmond? That there was a German Secret service organization spying on the movements of troops to France, that this man, Basil Bellward, who had been arrested, was one of the gang and that the dancer, Nur-el-Din, was in some way implicated in the affair! And that was the extent of his confidence! On the top of all this fog of obscurity rested the dense cloud surrounding the murder of old Mackwayte with the unexplained, the fantastic, clue of that single hair pointing back to Nur-el-Din.
Desmond consoled himself finally by saying that he would be able too get some light on his mission from Barbara Mackwayte, whom he judged to be in the Chief’s confidence. But here he was doomed to disappointment. Barbara could tell him practically nothing save what he already knew, that they were to work together in this affair. Like him, she was waiting for her instructions.
Barbara received him in a neat little suburban drawing-room in the house of her friends, who lived a few streets away from the Mackwaytes. She was wearing a plainly-made black crêpe de chine dress which served to accentuate the extreme pallor of her face, the only outward indication of the great shock she had sustained. She was perfectly calm and collected, otherwise, and she stopped Desmond who would have murmured some phrases of condolence.
“Ah, no, please,” she said, “I don’t think I can speak about it yet.”
She pulled a chair over for him and began to talk about the Chief.
“There’s not the least need for you to worry,” she said with a little woeful smile, like a sun-ray piercing a rain-cloud, “if the Chief says ‘Go back to France and wait for instructions,’ you may be sure that everything is arranged, and you will receive your orders in due course. So shall I. That’s the Chief all over. Until you know him, you think he loves mystery for mystery’s sake. It isn’t that at all. He just doesn’t trust us. He trusts nobody!”
“But that hardly seems fair to us...” began Desmond.
“It’s merely a precaution,” replied Barbara, “the Chief takes no risks. I’ve not the least doubt that he has decided to tell you nothing whatsoever about your part until you are firmly settled in your new role. I’m perfectly certain that every detail of your part has already been worked out.”
“Oh, that’s not possible,” said Desmond. “Why, he didn’t know until an hour ago that I was going to take on this job.”
Barbara laughed.
“The Chief has taught me a lot about judging men by their looks,” she said: “Personally, if I’d been in the Chief’s places I should have gone ahead without consulting you, too.”
The girl spoke with such directness that there was not the least suggestion of a compliment in her remark, but Desmond blushed to the roots of his hair. Barbara noticed it and added hastily:
“I’m not trying to pay you a compliment: I’m just judging by your type. I believe I can always tell the man that will take on any job, however dangerous, and carry it through to the end.”
Desmond blushed more furiously than ever.
He made haste to divert the conversation into a safer channel.
“Well,” he said slowly, “seeing that you and I were intended to work together, it seems to me to be a most extraordinary coincidence our meeting like that last night...”
“It was more than a coincidence,” said Barbara, shaking her dark brown head. “Forty-eight hours ago I’d never heard of you, then the Chief gave me a telegram to send to your Divisional General summoning you home, after that he told me that we were to work together, and a few hours later I run into you in Nur-el-Din’s dressing-room...”
She broke off suddenly, her gray eyes big with fear. She darted across the room to an ormolu table on which her handbag was lying. With astonishment, Desmond watched her unceremoniously spill out the contents on to the table and rake hastily amongst the collection of articles which a pretty girl carries round in her bag.
Presently she raised herself erect and turning, faced the officer. She was trembling as though with cold and when she spoke, her voice was low and husky.
“Gone!” she whispered.
“Have you lost anything” Desmond asked anxiously.
“How could I have forgotten it?” she went on as though he had not spoken, “how could I have forgotten it? Nearly twelve hours wasted, and it explains everything. What will the Chief think of me!”
Slowly she sank down on the sofa where she had been sitting, then, without any warning, dropped her head into her hands and burst into tears.
Desmond went over to her.
“Please don’t cry,” he said gently, “you have borne up so bravely against this terrible blow; you must try and not let it overwhelm you.”
All her business-like calm had disappeared now she was that most distracting of all pictures of woman, a pretty girl overwhelmed with grief. She crouched curled upon the sofa, with shoulders heaving, sobbing as though her heart would break.
“Perhaps you would like me to leave you?” Desmond asked. “Let me ring for your friends... I am sure you would rather be alone!”
She raised a tear-stained face to his, her long lashes glittering.
“No, no,” she said, “don’t go, don’t go! I want your help. This is such a dark and dreadful business, more than I ever realized. Oh, my poor daddy, my poor daddy!”
Again she hid her face in her hands and cried whilst Desmond stood erect by her aide, compassionate but very helpless.
After a little, she dabbed her eyes with a tiny square of cambric, and sitting up, surveyed the other.
“I must go to the Chief at once,” she said, “it is most urgent. Would you ring and ask the maid to telephone for a taxi?”
“I have one outside,” answered Desmond. “But won’t you tell me what has happened?”
“Why,” said Barbara, “it has only just dawned on me why our house was broken into last night and poor daddy so cruelly murdered! Whoever robbed the house did not come after our poor little bits of silver or daddy’s savings in the desk in the dining room. They came after something that I had!”
“And what was that” asked Desmond.
Then Barbara told him of her talk with Nur-el-Din in the dancer’s dressing-room on the previous evening and of the package which Nur-el-Din had entrusted to her care.
“This terrible business put it completely out of my head,” said Barbara. “In the presence of the police this morning, I looked over my bedroom and even searched my hand-bag which the police sent back to me this afternoon without finding that the burglars had stolen anything. It was only just now, when we were talking about our meeting in Nur-el-Din’s room last night, that her little package suddenly flashed across my mind. And then I looked through my handbag again and convinced myself that it was not there.”
“But are you sure the police haven’t taken it?”
“Absolutely certain,” was the reply. “I remember perfectly what was in my hand-bag this morning when I went through it, and the same things are on that table over there now.”
“Do you know what was in this package!” said Desmond.
“Just a small silver box, oblong and quite plain, about so big,” she indicated the size with her hands, “about as large as a cigarette-box. Nur-el-Din said it was a treasured family possession of hers, and she was afraid of losing it as she traveled about so much. She asked me to say nothing about it and to keep it until the war was over or until she asked me for it.”
“Then,” said Desmond, “this clears Nur-el-Din!”
“What do you mean,” said Barbara, looking up.
“Simply that she wouldn’t have broken into your place and killed your father in order to recover her own package...”
“But why on earth should Nur-el-Din be suspected of such a thing?”
“Have you heard nothing about this young lady from the Chief?”
“Nothing. I had not thought anything about her until daddy discovered an old friend in her last night and introduced me.”
The Chief’s infernal caution again! thought Desmond, secretly admiring the care with which that remarkable man, in his own phrase, “sealed both ends of every connection.”
“If I’m to work with this girl,” said Desmond to himself, “I’m going to have all the cards on the table here and now,” so forthwith he told her of the Chief’s suspicions of the dancer, the letter recommending her to Bellward found when the cheese merchant had been arrested, and lastly of the black hair which had been discovered on the thongs with which Barbara had been fastened.
“And now,” Desmond concluded, “the very next thing we must do is to go to the Chief and tell him about this package of Nur-el-Din’s that is missing.” Barbara interposed quickly.
“It’s no use your coming,” she said. “The Chief won’t see you. When he has sent a man on his mission, he refuses to see him again until the work has been done. If he wishes to send for you or communicate with you, he will. But it’s useless for you to try and see him yourself. You can drop me at the office!”
Desmond was inclined to agree with her on this point and said so.
“There is one thing especially that puzzles me, Miss Mackwayte,” Desmond observed as they drove westward again, “and that is, how anyone could have known about your having this box of Nur-el-Din’s. Was there anybody else in the room when she gave you the package?”
“No,” said Barbara, “I don’t think so. Wait a minute, though, Nur-el-Din’s maid must have come in very shortly after for I remember the opened the door when Captain Strangwise came to tell me daddy was waiting to take me home.”
“Do you remember if Nur-el-Din actually mentioned the package in the presence of the maid!”
“As far as I can recollect just as the maid opened the door to Captain Strangwise, Nur-el-Din was impressing on me again to take great care of the package. I don’t think she actually mentioned the box but I remember her pointing at my bag where I had put the package.”
“The maid didn’t see Nur-el-Din give you the box?”
“No, I’m sure of that. The room was empty save for us two. It was only just before Captain Strangwise knocked that I noticed Marie arranging Nur-el-Din’s dresses. She must have come in afterwards without my seeing her.”
“Well then, this girl, Marie, didn’t see the dancer give you the box but she heard her refer to it. Is that right?”
“Yes, and, of course, Captain Strangwise...”
“What about him?”
“He must have heard what Nur-el-Din was saying, too!”
Desmond rubbed his chin.
“I say, you aren’t going to implicate old Strangwise, too, are you?” he asked.
Barbara did not reflect his smile.
“He seems to know Nur-el-Din pretty well,” she said, “and I’ll tell you something else, that woman’s afraid of your friend, the Captain!”
“What do you mean?” asked Desmond.
“I was watching her in the glass last night as he was talking to her while you and I and daddy were chatting in the corner. I don’t know what he said to her, but she glanced over her shoulder with a look of terror in her eyes. I was watching her face in the glass. She looked positivelyhunted!”
The taxi stopped. Desmond jumped out and helped his companion to alight.
“Au revoir,” she said to him, “never fear, you and I will meet very soon again!”
With that she was gone. Desmond looked at his watch. It pointed to a quarter to six.
“Now I wonder what time the leave-train starts tonight,” he said aloud, one foot on the sideboard of the taxi.
“At 7.45, sir,” said a voice.
“Desmond glanced round him. Then he saw it was the taxi-driver who had spoken.
“7.45, eh?” said Desmond. “From Victoria, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir,” said the taxi-man.
“By Jove, I haven’t much time,” ejaculated the officer “and there are some things I want to get before I go back across the Channel. And I shall have to see the Railway Transport Officer about my pass.”
“That’s all right, sir,” said the taxi-man, “I have your papers here”; he handed Desmond a couple of slips of paper which he took from his coat-pocket; “those will take you back to France all right, I think you’ll find!”
Desmond looked at the papers: they were quite in order and correctly filled up with his name, rank and regiment, and date.
The taxi-man cut short any further question by saying:
“If you’ll get into the cab again, sir, I’ll drive you where you want to go, and then wait while you have your dinner and take you to the station. By the way, your dinner’s ordered too!”
“But who the devil are you?” asked Desmond in amazement.
“On special service, the same as you, sir!” said the man with a grin and Desmond understood.
Really, the Chief was extremely thorough.
They went to the stores in the Haymarket, to Fortnum and Mason’s, and lastly, to a small, grubby shop at the back of Mayfair where Desmond and his brother had bought their cigarettes for years past. Desmond purchased a hundred of their favored brand, the Dionysus, as a reserve for his journey back to France, and stood chatting over old times with the fat, oily-faced Greek manager as the latter tied up his cigarettes into a clean white paper parcel, neatly sealed up with red sealing wax.
Then Desmond drove back to the Nineveh Hotel where he left his taxi-driving colleague in the courtyard on the understanding that at 7.25 the taxi would be waiting to drive him to the station.
Desmond went straight upstairs to his room to put his kit together. In the strong, firmly woven web spread by the Chief, he felt as helpless as a fly caught in a spider’s mesh. He had no idea of what his plans were. He only knew that he was going back to France, and that it was his business to get on the leave-boat that night.
As he passed along the thickly carpeted, silent corridor to his room, he saw the door of Strangwise’s room standing ajar. He pushed open the door and walked in unceremoniously. A suitcase stood open on the floor with Strangwise bending over it. At his elbow was a table crowded with various parcels, a case of razors, different articles of kit, and some books. Desmond halted at the door, his box of cigarettes dangling from his finger.
“Hullo, Maurice,” he said, “are you off, too?”
Strangwise spun round sharply. The blood had rushed to his face, staining it with a dark, angry flush.
“My God, how you startled me!” he exclaimed rather testily. “I never heard you come in!”
He turned rather abruptly and went on with his packing. He struck Desmond as being rather annoyed at the intrusion; the latter had never seen him out of temper before.
“Sorry if I butted in,” said Desmond, sliding his box of cigarettes off his finger on to the littered table and sitting down on a chair. “I came in to say good-bye. I’m going back to France to-night!”
Maurice looked round quickly. He appeared to be quite his old self again and was all smiles now.
“So soon?” he said. “Why, I thought you were getting a job at the War Office!”
Desmond shook his head.
“Not good enough,” he replied, “it’s back to the sandbags for mine. But where are you off to?”
“Got a bit of leave; the Intelligence folk seem to be through with me at last, so they’ve given me six weeks!”
“Going to the country” asked Desmond.
Strangwise nodded.
“Yep,” he said, “down to Essex to see if I can get a few duck or snipe on the fens. I wish you were coming with me!”
“So do I, old man,” echoed Desmond heartily. Then he added in a serious voice:
“By the way, I haven’t seen you since last night. What a shocking affair this is about old Mackwayte, isn’t it? Are there any developments, do you know?”
Strangwise very deliberately fished a cigarette out of his case which was lying open on the table and lit it before replying.
“A very dark affair,” he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke and flicking the match into the grate. “You are discreet, I know, Okewood. The Intelligence people had me up this morning... to take my evidence...”
Strangwise’s surmise about Desmond’s discretion was perfectly correct. With Desmond Okewood discretion was second nature, and therefore he answered with feigned surprise: “Your evidence about what? About our meeting the Mackwaytes last night?”
After he had spoken he realized he had blundered. Surely, after all, the Chief would have told Strangwise about their investigations at Seven Kings. Still...
“No,” replied Strangwise, “but about Nur-el-Din!”
The Chief had kept his own counsel about their morning’s work. Desmond was glad now that he had dissimulated.
“You see, I know her pretty well,” Strangwise continued, “between ourselves, I got rather struck on the lady when she was touring in Canada some years ago, and in fact I spent so much more money than I could afford on her that I had to discontinue the acquaintance. Then I met her here when I got away from Germany a month ago; she was lonely, so I took her about a bit. Okewood, I’m afraid I was rather indiscreet.”
“How do you mean?” Desmond asked innocently.
“Well,” said Strangwise slowly, contemplating the end of his cigarette, “it appears that the lady is involved in certain activities which considerably interest our Intelligence. But there, I mustn’t say any more!”
“But how on earth is Nur-el-what’s her name concerned in this murder, Maurice?”
Strangwise shrugged his shoulders.
“Ah, you’d better ask the police. But I tell you she’ll be getting into trouble if she’s not careful!”
Throughout this conversation Desmond seemed to hear in his ears Barbara’s words: “That woman’s afraid of your friend!” He divined that for some reason or other, Strangwise wanted to create a bad impression in his mind about the dancer. He scanned Maurice’s face narrowly. Its impenetrability was absolute. There was nothing to be gleaned from those careless, smiling features.
“Well,” said Desmond, getting up, “nous verrons. I shall have to make a bolt for it now if I don’t want to miss my train. Good-bye, Maurice, and I hope you’ll get some birds!”
“Thanks, old man. Au revoir, and take care of yourself. My salaams to the General!”.
They shook hands warmly, then Desmond grabbed his box of cigarettes in its neat white wrapper with the bold red seals and hurried off to his room.
Strangwise stood for a moment gazing after him. He was no longer the frank, smiling companion of a minute before. His mouth was set hard and his chin stuck out at a defiant angle.
He bent over the table and picked up a white paper package sealed with bold red seals. He poised it for a moment in his hands while a flicker of a smile stole into the narrow eyes and played for an instant round the thin lips. Then, with a quick movement, he thrust the little package into the side pocket of his tunic and buttoned the flap.
Whistling a little tune, he went on with his packing.