APPROACHING A SOLUTION
A Chinese proverb informs us that "there are three hundred and
forty-six subjects for elegant conversation," but during the trip down
I think that Tommy and I confined ourselves almost exclusively to two.
One was Mr. Bruce Latimer, and the other was Joyce's amazing discovery
about McMurtrie and Marks.
Concerning the latter Tommy was just as astonished and baffled as I
was.
"I'm blessed if I know what to think about it, Neil," he admitted. "If
it was any one else but Joyce, I should say she'd made a mistake. What
on earth could McMurtrie have had to do with that Jew beast?"
"Joyce seems to think he had quite a lot to do with him," I said.
Tommy nodded. "I know. She's made up her mind he did the job all
right; but, hang it all, one doesn't go and murder people without any
conceivable reason."
"I can conceive plenty of excellent reasons for murdering Marks," I
said impartially. "I should hardly think they would have appealed to
McMurtrie, though. The chief thing that makes me suspicious about him
is the fact of his knowing George and hiding it from me all this
time. I suppose that was how he got hold of his information about the
powder. George was almost the only person who knew of it."
"I always thought the whole business was a devilish odd one," growled
Tommy; "but the more one finds out about it the queerer it seems to
get. These people of yours--McMurtrie and Savaroff--are weird enough
customers on their own, but when it comes to their being mixed up with
both George _and_ Marks ..." he paused. "It will turn out next that
Latimer's in it too," he added half-mockingly.
"I shouldn't wonder," I said. "I can't swallow everything he told you,
Tommy. It leaves too much unexplained. You see, I'm pretty certain
that the chap who tried to do him in is one of McMurtrie's crowd, and
in that case--"
"In that case," interrupted Tommy, with a short laugh, "we ought to
have rather an interesting evening. Seems to me, Neil, we're what you
might call burning our boats this journey."
The old compunction I had felt at first against dragging Tommy and
Joyce into my affairs suddenly came back to me with renewed force.
"I'm a selfish brute, Thomas," I said ruefully. "I think the best
thing I could do really would be to drop overboard. The Lord knows
what trouble I shall land you in before I've finished."
"You'll land me into the trouble of telling you not to talk rot in a
minute," he returned. Then, standing up and peering out ahead over
the long dim expanse of water, dotted here and there with patches of
blurred light, he added cheerfully: "You take her over now, Neil,
We're right at the end of the Yantlet, and after this morning you
ought to know the rest of the way better than I do."
He resigned the tiller to me, and pulling out his watch, held it up to
the binnacle lamp.
"Close on a quarter to nine," he said. "We shall just do it nicely if
the engine doesn't stop."
"I hope so," I said. "I should hate to keep a Government official
waiting."
We crossed the broad entrance into Queenborough Harbour, where the dim
bulk of a couple of battleships loomed up vaguely through the haze.
It was a strange, exhilarating sensation, throbbing along in the
semi-darkness, with all sorts of unknown possibilities waiting for
us ahead. More than ever I felt what Joyce had described in the
morning--a sort of curious inward conviction that we were at last on
the point of finding out the truth.
"We'd better slacken down a bit when we get near," said Tommy.
"Latimer specially told me to bring her in as quietly as I could."
I nodded. "Right you are," I said. "I wasn't going to hurry, anyhow.
It's a tricky place, and I don't want to smash up any more islands.
One a day is quite enough."
I slowed down the engine to about four knots an hour, and at this
dignified pace we proceeded along the coast, keeping a watchful eye
for the entrance to the creek. At last a vague outline of rising
ground showed us that we were in the right neighbourhood, and bringing
the _Betty_ round, I headed her in very delicately towards the shore.
It was distressingly dark, from a helmsman's point of view, but Tommy,
who had gone up into the bows, handed me back instructions, and
by dint of infinite care we succeeded in making the opening with
surprising accuracy.
The creek was quite small, with a steep bank one side perhaps fifteen
feet high, and what looked like a stretch of mud or saltings on the
other. Its natural beauties, however, if it had any, were rather
obscured by the darkness.
"What shall we do now, Tommy?" I asked in a subdued voice. "Turn her
round?"
He came back to the well. "Yes," he said, "turn her round, and then
I'll cut out the engine and throttle her down. She'll make a certain
amount of row, but we can't help that. I daren't stop her; or she
might never start again."
We carried out our manoeuvre successfully, and then dropped over the
anchor to keep us in position. I seated myself on the roof of the
cabin, and pulling out a pipe, commenced to fill it.
"I wonder how long the interval is," I said. "I suppose spying is a
sort of job you can't fix an exact time-limit to."
Tommy looked at his watch again. "It's just on a quarter to ten now.
He told me not to wait after half-past."
I stuffed down the baccy with my thumb, and felt in my pocket for a
match.
"It seems to me--" I began.
The interesting remark I was about to make was never uttered. From the
high ground away to the left came the sudden crack of a revolver shot
that rang out with startling viciousness on the night air. It was
followed almost instantly by a second.
Tommy and I leaped up together, inspired simultaneously by the same
idea. Being half way there, however, I easily reached the painter
first.
"All right," I cried, "I'll pick him up. You haul in and have her
ready to start."
I don't know exactly what the record is for getting off in a dinghy in
the dark, but I think I hold it with something to spare. I was away
from the ship and sculling furiously for the shore in about the same
time that it has taken to write this particular sentence.
I pulled straight for the direction in which I had heard the shots.
It was the steepest part of the cliff, but under the circumstances it
seemed the most likely spot at which my services would be required.
People are apt to take a short cut when revolver bullets are chasing
about the neighbourhood.
I stopped rowing a few yards from the shore, and swinging the boat
round, stared up through the gloom. There was just light enough to
make out the top of the cliff, which appeared to be covered by a thick
growth of gorse several feet in height. I backed away a stroke or two,
and as I did so, there came a sudden snapping, rustling sound from
up above, and the next instant the figure of a man broke through the
bushes.
He peered down eagerly at the water.
"That you, Morrison?" he called out in a low, distinct voice, which I
recognized at once.
"Yes," I answered briefly. It struck me as being no time for elaborate
explanations.
Mr. Latimer was evidently of the same opinion. Without any further
remark, he stepped forward to the edge of the cliff, and jumping well
out into the air, came down with a beautiful splash about a dozen
yards from the boat.
He rose to the surface at once, and I was alongside of him a moment
later.
"It's all right," I said, as he clutched hold of the stern.
"Morrison's in the _Betty_; I'm lending him a hand."
I caught his arm to help him in, and as I did so he gave a little
sharp exclamation of pain.
"Hullo!" I said, shifting my grip. "What's the matter?"
With an effort he hoisted himself up into the boat.
"Nothing much, thanks," he answered in that curious composed voice of
his. "I think one of our friends made a luckier shot than he deserved
to. It's only my left arm, though."
I seized the sculls, and began to pull off quickly for the _Betty_.
"We'll look at it in a second," I said. "Are they after you?"
He laughed. "Yes, some little way after. I took the precaution of
starting in the other direction and then doubling back. It worked
excellently."
He spoke in the same rather amused drawl as he had done at the hut,
and there was no hint of hurry or excitement in his manner. I could
just see, however, that he was dressed in rough, common-looking
clothes, and that he was no longer wearing an eye-glass. If he had had
a cap, he had evidently parted with it during his dive into the sea.
A few strokes brought us to the _Betty_, where Tommy was leaning over
the side ready to receive us.
"All right?" he inquired coolly, as we scrambled on board.
"Nothing serious," replied Latimer. "Thanks to you and--and this
gentleman."
"They've winged him, Tommy," I said. "Can you take her out while I
have a squint at the damage?"
Tommy's answer was to thrust in the clutch of the engine, and with an
abrupt jerk we started off down the creek. As we did so there came a
sudden hail from the shore.
"Boat ahoy! What boat's that?"
It was a deep, rather dictatorial sort of voice, with the faintest
possible touch of a foreign accent about it.
Latimer replied at once in a cheerful, good-natured bawl, amazingly
different from his ordinary tone:
"Private launch, _Vanity_, Southend; and who the hell are you?"
Whether the vigour of the reply upset our questioner or not, I can't
say. Anyhow he returned no answer, and leaving him to think what he
pleased, we continued our way out into the main stream.
"Come into the cabin and let's have a look at you," I said to Latimer.
"You must get those wet things off, anyhow."
He followed me inside, where I took down the small hanging lamp and
placed it on the table. Then very carefully I helped him strip off his
coat, bringing to light a grey flannel shirt, the left sleeve of which
was soaked in blood.
I took out my knife, and ripped it up from the cuff to the shoulder.
The wound was about a couple of inches above the elbow, a small clean
puncture right through from side to side. It was bleeding a bit, but
one could see at a glance that the bullet had just missed the bone.
"You're lucky," I said. "Another quarter of an inch, and that arm
would have been precious little use to you for the next two months.
Does it hurt much?"
He shook his head. "Not the least," he replied carelessly. "I hardly
knew I was hit until you grabbed hold of me."
I tied my handkerchief round as tightly as possible just above the
place, and then going to the locker hauled out our spare fancy costume
which had previously done duty for Mr. Gow.
"You get these on first," I said, "and then I'll fix you up properly."
I thrust my head out through the cabin door to see how things were
going, and found that we were already clear of the creek and heading
back towards Queenborough. Tommy, who was sitting at the tiller
puffing away peacefully at a pipe, removed the latter article from his
mouth.
"Where are we going to, my pretty maid?" he inquired.
"I don't know," I said; "I'll ask the passenger as soon as I've
finished doctoring him."
I returned to the cabin, where Mr. Latimer, who had stripped off
his wet garments, was attempting to dry himself with a dishcloth. I
managed to find him a towel, and then, as soon as he had struggled
into a pair of flannel trousers and a vest, I set about the job of
tying up his arm. An old shirt of Tommy's served me as a bandage, and
although I don't profess to be an expert, I knew enough about first
aid to make a fairly serviceable job of it. Anyhow Mr. Latimer
expressed himself as being completely satisfied.
"You'd better have a drink now," I said. "That's part of the
treatment."
I mixed him a stiff peg, which he consumed without protest; and then,
after he had inserted himself carefully into a jersey and coat, we
both went outside.
"Hullo!" exclaimed Tommy genially. "How do you feel now?"
Our visitor sat down on one of the side seats in the cockpit, and
contemplated us both with his pleasant smile.
"I feel extremely obliged to you, Morrison," he said. "You have a way
of keeping your engagements that I find most satisfactory."
Tommy laughed. "I had a bit of luck," he returned. "If I hadn't picked
up our pal here I doubt if I should have got down in time after all.
By the way, there's no need to introduce you. You've met each other
before at the hut, haven't you?"
Latimer, who was just lighting a cigar which I had offered him, paused
for a moment in the operation.
"Yes," he said quietly. "We have met each other before. But I should
rather like to be introduced, all the same."
Something in his manner struck me as being a trifle odd, but if Tommy
noticed it he certainly didn't betray the fact.
"Well, you shall be," he answered cheerfully. "This is Mr. James
Nicholson."
Latimer finished lighting his cigar, blew out the match, and dropped
it carefully over the side.
"Indeed," he said. "It only shows how extremely inaccurate one's
reasoning powers can be."
There was a short but rather pregnant pause. Then Tommy leaned
forward.
"What do you mean?" he asked, in that peculiarly gentle voice which he
keeps for the most unhealthy occasions.
Latimer's face remained beautifully impassive. "I was under the
mistaken impression," he answered slowly, "that I owed my life to Mr.
Neil Lyndon."
For perhaps three seconds none of us spoke; then I broke the silence
with a short laugh.
"We are up against it, Thomas," I observed.
Tommy looked backwards and forwards from one to the other of us.
"What shall we do?" he said quietly. "Throw him in the river?"
"It would be rather extravagant," I objected, "after we've just pulled
him out."
Latimer smiled. "I am not sure I don't deserve it. I have lied to you,
Morrison, all through in the most disgraceful manner." Then he paused.
"Still it _would_ be extravagant," he added. "I think I can convince
you of that before we get to Queenborough."
Tommy throttled down the engine to about its lowest running point.
"Look here, Latimer," he said. "We're not going to Queenborough, or
anywhere else, until we've got the truth out of you. You understand
that, of course. You've put yourself in our power deliberately, and
you must have some reason. One doesn't cut one's throat for fun."
He spoke in his usual pleasant fashion, but there was a grim
seriousness behind it which no one could pretend to misunderstand.
Latimer, at all events, made no attempt to. He merely nodded his head
approvingly.
"You're quite right," he said. "I had made up my mind you should hear
some of the truth tonight in any case; that was the chief reason why
I asked you to come and pick me up. When I saw you had brought Mr.
Lyndon with you, I determined to tell you everything. It's the
simplest and best way, after all."
He stopped for a moment, and we all three sat there in silence, while
the _Betty_ slowly throbbed her way forward, splashing off the black
water from either bow. Then Latimer began to speak again quite
quietly.
"I _am_ in the Secret Service," he said; "but you can forget the rest
of what I told you the other night, Morrison. I am after bigger game
than a couple of German spies--though they come into it right enough.
I am on the track of three friends of Mr. Lyndon's, who just now are
as badly wanted in Whitehall as they probably are in hell."
I leaned back with a certain curious thrill of satisfaction.
"I thought so," I said softly.
He glanced at me with his keen blue eyes, and the light of the lamp
shining on his face showed up its square dogged lines of strength and
purpose. It was a fine face--the face of a man without weakness and
without fear.
"It's nearly twelve months ago now," he continued, "that we first
began to realize at headquarters that there was something queer going
on. There's always a certain amount of spying in every country--the
sort of quiet, semi-official kind that doesn't do any one a ha'porth
of practical harm. Now and then, of course, somebody gets dropped on,
and there's a fuss in the papers, but nobody really bothers much about
it. This was different, however. Two or three times things happened
that did matter very much indeed. They were the sort of things that
showed us pretty plainly we were up against something entirely
new--some kind of organized affair that had nothing on earth to do
with the usual casual spying.
"Well, I made up my mind to get to the bottom of it. Casement, who is
nominally the head of our department, gave me an absolutely free hand,
and I set to work in my own way quite independently of the police. It
was six months before I got hold of a clue. Then some designs--some
valuable battleship designs--disappeared from Devonport Dockyard. It
was a queer case, but there were one or two things about it which made
me pretty sure it was the work of the same gang, and that for the
time, at all events, they were somewhere in the neighbourhood.
"I needn't bother you now with all the details of how I actually ran
them to earth. It wasn't an easy job. They weren't the sort of people
who left any spare bits of evidence lying around, and by the time I
found out where they were living it was just too late." He turned to
me. "Otherwise, Mr. Lyndon, I think we might possibly have had the
pleasure of meeting earlier."
A sudden forgotten recollection of my first interview with McMurtrie
flashed vividly into my mind.
"By Jove!" I exclaimed. "What a fool I am! I knew I'd heard your name
somewhere before."
Latimer nodded. "Yes," he said. "I daresay I had begun to arouse a
certain amount of interest in the household by the time you arrived."
He paused. "By the way, I am still quite in the dark as to how you
actually got in with them. Had they managed to send you a message into
the prison?"
"No," I said. "I'm equally in the dark as to how you've found out who
I am, but you seem to know so much already, you may as well have the
truth. It was chance; just pure chance and a bicycle. I hadn't the
remotest notion who lived in the house. I was trying to steal some
food."
Latimer nodded again. "It was a chance that a man like McMurtrie
wasn't likely to waste. I don't know yet how you're paying him for his
help, but I should imagine it's a fairly stiff price. However, we'll
come back to that afterwards.
"I was just too late, as I told you, to interrupt your pleasant little
house-party. I managed to find out, however, that some of you had gone
to London, and I followed at once. It was then, I think, that the
doctor decided it was time to take the gloves off.
"So far, although I'd been on their heels for weeks, I hadn't set eyes
on any of the gang personally. All the same, I had a pretty good idea
of what McMurtrie and Savaroff were like to look at, and I fancy they
probably guessed as much. Anyhow, as you know, it was the third
member of the brotherhood--a gentleman who, I believe, calls himself
Hoffman--who was entrusted with the job of putting me out of the way."
A faint mocking smile flickered for a moment round his lips.
"That was where the doctor made his first slip. It never pays to
underestimate your enemy. Hoffman certainly had a good story, and
he told it well, but after thirteen years in the Secret Service I
shouldn't trust the Archbishop of Canterbury till I'd proved his
credentials. I agreed to dine at Parelli's, but I took the precaution
of having two of my own men there as well--one in the restaurant
and one outside in the street. I had given them instructions that,
whatever happened, they were to keep Hoffman shadowed till further
orders.
"Well, you know how things turned out almost as well as I do. I was
vastly obliged to you for sending me that note, but as a matter of
fact I hadn't the least intention of drinking the wine. Indeed, I
turned away purposely to give Hoffman the chance to doctor it. What
did beat me altogether was who you were. I naturally couldn't place
you at all. I saw that you recognized one of us when you came in, and
that you were watching our table pretty attentively in the glass. I
had a horrible suspicion for a moment that you were a Scotland Yard
man, and were going to bungle the whole business by arresting Hoffman.
That was why I sent you my card; I knew if you were at the Yard you'd
recognize my name."
"I severed my connection with the police some time ago," I said drily.
"What happened after dinner? I've been longing to know ever since."
"I got rid of Hoffman at the door, and from the time he left the
restaurant my men never lost him again. They shadowed him to his
lodgings--he was living in a side street near Victoria--and for the
next two days I got a detailed report of everything he did. It was
quite interesting reading. Amongst other things it included paying a
morning visit to the hut you're living in at present, Mr. Lyndon, and
going on from there to spend the afternoon calling on some friends at
Sheppey."
I laughed gently, and turned to Tommy. "Amazingly simple," I said,
"when you know how it's done."
Tommy nodded. "I've got all that part, but I'm still utterly at sea
about how he dropped on to you."
"That was simpler still," answered Latimer. "One of my men told me
that the hut was empty for the time, so I came down to have a look
at it." He turned to me. "Of course I recognized you at once as the
obliging stranger of the restaurant. That didn't put me much farther
on the road, but when Morrison rolled up with his delightfully
ingenious yarn, he gave me just the clue I was looking for. I knew
his story was all a lie because I'd seen you since. Well, a man
like Morrison doesn't butt into this sort of business without a
particularly good reason, and it didn't take me very long to guess
what his reason was. You see I remembered him chiefly in connection
with your trial. I knew he was your greatest friend; I knew you had
escaped from Dartmoor and disappeared somewhere in the neighbourhood
of McMurtrie's place, and putting two and two together there was only
one conclusion I could possibly come to."
"My appearance must have taken a little getting over," I suggested.
Latimer shrugged his shoulders. "Apart from your features you exactly
fitted the bill, and I had learned enough about McMurtrie's past
performances not to let that worry me. What I couldn't make out was
why he should have run the risk of helping you. Of course you might
have offered him a large sum of money--if you had it put away
somewhere--but in that case there seemed no reason why you should be
hanging about in a hut on the Thames marshes."
"Why didn't you tell the police?" asked Tommy.
"The police!" Latimer's voice was full of pleasant irony. "My dear
Morrison, we don't drag the police into this sort of business; our
great object is to keep them out of it. Mr. Lyndon's affairs had
nothing to do with me officially apart from his being mixed up with
McMurtrie. Besides, my private sympathies were entirely with him. Not
only had he tried to save my life at Parelli's, but ever since the
trial I have always been under the impression he was fully entitled to
slaughter Mr.--Mr.--whatever the scoundrel's name was."
I acknowledged the remark with a slight bow. "Thank you," I said. "As
a matter of sober fact I didn't kill him, but I shouldn't be the least
sorry for it if I had."
Latimer looked at me for a moment straight in the eyes.
"We've treated you beautifully as a nation," he said slowly. "It's an
impertinence on my part to expect you to help us."
I laughed. "Go on," I said. "Let's get it straightened out anyhow."
"Well, the straightening out must be largely done by you. As far as
I'm concerned the rest of the story can be told very quickly. For
various reasons I got to the conclusion that in some way or other the
two gentlemen on Sheppey had a good deal to do with the matter. My men
had been making a few inquiries about them, and from what we'd learned
I was strongly inclined to think they were a couple of German naval
officers over here on leave. If that was so, the fact that they were
in communication with Hoffman made it pretty plain where McMurtrie was
finding his market. My men had told me they were generally away on the
mainland in the evening, and I made up my mind I'd have a look at the
place the first chance I got. I asked Morrison to come down and pick
me up in his boat for two reasons--partly because I wanted to keep in
touch with you both, and partly because I thought it might come in
handy to have a second line of retreat."
"It _was_ rather convenient, as things turned out," interposed Tommy.
"Very," admitted Latimer drily. "They got back to the garden just as I
had opened one of the windows, and shot at me from behind the hedge.
If it hadn't been for the light they must have picked me off."
He stopped, and standing up in the well, looked round. By this time we
were again just off the entrance to Queenborough, and the thick haze
that had obscured everything earlier in the evening was rapidly
thinning away. A watery moon showed up the various warships at
anchor--dim grey formless shapes, marked by blurred lights.
"What do you say?" he asked, turning to Tommy. "Shall we run in here
and pick up some moorings? Before we go any further I want to hear
Lyndon's part of the story, and then we all three shall know exactly
where we are. After that you can throw me in the sea, or--or--well, I
think there are several possible alternatives."
"We'll find out anyhow," said Tommy.
He turned the _Betty_ towards the shore, and we worked our way
carefully into the harbour. We ran on past the anchored vessels, until
we were right opposite the Queenborough jetty, where we discovered
some unoccupied moorings which we promptly adopted. It was a snug
berth, and a fairly isolated one--a rakish-looking little gunboat
being our nearest neighbour.
In this pleasant atmosphere of law and order I proceeded to narrate as
briefly and quickly as possible the main facts about my escape and its
results. I felt that we had gone too far now to keep anything back.
Latimer had boldly placed his own cards face upwards on the table, and
short of sending him to the fishes, there seemed to be nothing else
to do except to follow his example. As he himself had said, we should
then at least know exactly how we stood with regard to each other.
He listened to me for the most part in silence, but the few
interruptions that he did make showed the almost fierce attention with
which he was following my story. I don't think his eyes ever left my
face from the first word to the last.
When I had finished he sat on for perhaps a minute without speaking.
Then very deliberately he leaned across and held out his hand.
We exchanged grips, and for once in my life I found a man whose
fingers seemed as strong as my own.
"I don't know whether that makes you an accessory after the fact,"
I said. "I believe it's about eighteen months for being civil to an
escaped convict."
He let go my hand, and getting up from his seat leaned back against
the door of the cabin facing us both.
"You may be an escaped convict, Mr. Lyndon," he said slowly, "but if
you choose I believe you can do more for England than any man alive."
There was a short pause.
"It seems to me," interrupted Tommy, "that England is a little bit in
Neil's debt already."
"That doesn't matter," I observed generously. "Let's hear what Mr.
Latimer has got to say." I turned to him. "Who are McMurtrie and
Savaroff?" I asked, "and what the devil's the meaning of it all?"
"The meaning is plain enough to a certain point," he answered. "I
haven't the least doubt that they intend to sell the secret of your
powder to Germany, just as they've sold their other information. If I
knew for certain it was only that, I should act, and act at once."
He stopped.
"Well?" I said.
"I believe there's something more behind it--something we've got to
find out before we strike. For the last two months Germany has taken
a tone towards us diplomatically that can only have one explanation.
They mean to get their way or fight, and if it comes to a fight
they're under the impression they're going to beat us."
"And you really believe McMurtrie and Savaroff are responsible for
their optimism?" I asked a little incredulously.
Latimer nodded. "Dr. McMurtrie," he said in his quiet drawl, "is the
most dangerous man in Europe. He is partly English and partly Russian
by birth. At one time he used to be court physician at St. Petersburg.
Savaroff is a German Pole--his real name is Vassiloff. Between them
they were largely responsible for the early disasters in the Japanese
war."
For a moment no one spoke. Then Tommy leaned forward. "I say,
Latimer," he exclaimed, "is this serious history?"
"The Russian Government," replied Latimer, "are most certainly under
that impression."
"But if they know about it," I objected, "how is it that McMurtrie and
Savaroff aren't in Siberia? I've never heard that the Russians are
particularly tender-hearted where traitors are concerned."
Latimer indulged in that peculiarly dry smile of his. "If the
Government had got hold of them I think their destination would have
been a much warmer one than Siberia. As it was they disappeared just
in time. There was a gang of them--four or five at the least--and all
men of position and influence. They must have made an enormous amount
of money out of the Japs. In the end one of them rounded on the
others--at least that's what appears to have happened. Anyhow
McMurtrie and Savaroff skipped, and skipped in such a hurry that they
seem to have left most of their savings behind them. I suppose that's
what made them start business again in England."
"You're absolutely sure they're the same pair?" asked Tommy.
"Absolutely. I've got their full description from the Russian police.
It tallies in every way--even to Savaroff's daughter. There _is_ a
girl with them, I believe?"
"Yes," I said. "There's a girl." Then I paused for a moment. "Look
here, Latimer," I went on. "What is it you want me to do? I'll help
you in any way I can. When I made my bargain with McMurtrie I hadn't
a notion what his real game was. I don't in the least want to buy my
freedom by selling England to Germany. The only thing I flatly and
utterly refuse to do is to serve out the rest of my sentence. If it's
bound to come out who I am, you must give me your word I shall have
a reasonable warning. I don't much mind dying--especially if I can
arrange for ten minutes with George first--but quite candidly I'd see
England wiped off the map before I'd go back to Dartmoor."
Latimer made a slight gesture with his hands. "You've saved my life,
once at all events," he said. "It may seem a trifle to you, but it's a
matter of quite considerable importance to me. I don't think you need
worry about going back to Dartmoor--not as long as the Secret Service
is in existence."
"Well, what is it you want me to do?" I asked again.
He was silent for a moment or two, as though arranging his ideas. Then
he began to speak very slowly and deliberately.
"I want you to go on as if nothing had happened. Write to McMurtrie
the first thing tomorrow morning and tell him that you've made the
powder. He is sure to come down to the hut at once. You can show him
that it's genuine, but on no account let him have any of it to take
away. Tell him that you will only hand over the secret on receipt of
a written agreement, and make him see that you're absolutely serious.
Meanwhile let me know everything that happens as soon as you possibly
can. Telegraph to me at 145 Jermyn Street. You can send in the
messages to Tilbury by the man who's looking after your boat. Use some
quick simple cypher--suppose we say the alphabet backwards, Z for A
and so on. Have you got plenty of money?"
I nodded. "I should like to have some sort of notion what you're going
to do," I said. "It would be much more inspiriting than working in the
dark."
"It depends entirely on the next two days. I shall go back to London
tonight and find out if either of my men has got hold of any fresh
information. Then I shall put the whole thing in front of Casement. If
he agrees with me I shall wait till the last possible moment before
striking. We've enough evidence about the Devonport case to arrest
McMurtrie and Savaroff straight away, but I feel it would be madness
while there's a chance of getting to the bottom of this business.
Perhaps you understand now why I've risked everything tonight. We're
playing for high stakes, Mr. Lyndon, and you--" he paused--"well, I'm
inclined to think that you've the ace of trumps."
I stood up and faced him. "I hope so," I said. "I'm rather tired of
being taken for the Knave."
"Isn't there a job for me?" asked Tommy pathetically. "I'm open for
anything, especially if it wants a bit of physical violence."
"There will probably be a demand for that a little later on," said
Latimer in his quiet drawl. "At present I want you to come back with
me to London. I shall find plenty for you to do there, Morrison. The
fewer people that are mixed up in this affair the better." He turned
to me. "You can take the boat back to Tilbury alone if we go ashore
here?"
I nodded, and he once more held out his hand.
"We shall meet again soon," he said--"very soon I think. Have you ever
read Longfellow?"
It was such a surprising question that I couldn't help smiling.
"Not recently," I said. "I haven't been in the mood for poetry the
last two or three years."
He held my hand and his blue eyes looked steadily into mine.
"Ah," he said. "I don't want to be too optimistic, but there's a verse
in Longfellow which I think you might like." He paused again. "It has
something to do with the Mills of God," he added slowly.