SONIA'S SUDDEN VISIT
One's feelings are queer things. Personally I never have the least
notion how a particular situation will affect me until I happen to
find myself in it.
I should have thought, for instance, that Latimer's revelations would
have left me in a state of vast excitement, but as a matter of fact
I don't think I ever felt cooler in my life. I believe every other
emotion was swallowed up in the relief of finding out something
definite at last.
I know anyhow that that was my chief sensation as I rowed the dinghy
towards the wet slimy causeway, lit by its solitary lamp. There was a
boat train to town in the early hours of the morning which Latimer had
suggested that he and Tommy should catch, and it certainly seemed a
safer plan than coming back to Tilbury with me.
When I had parted from them, under the sleepy eye of a
depressed-looking night watchman, I returned to the _Betty_ and
proceeded to let go my moorings. I then ran up the sails, and gliding
gently past the warships and a big incoming steamer, floated out into
the broad peaceful darkness of the Thames estuary. I was in no hurry,
and now that the mist had cleared away it was a perfect night for
drifting comfortably up river with the tide.
The dawn was just beginning to break by the time I reached my old
anchorage in the creek. In spite of my long and slightly strenuous
day, I didn't feel particularly tired, so after stowing away the sails
and tidying up things generally, I sat down in the cabin and began to
compose my letter to McMurtrie.
I started off by telling him that I had completed my invention some
days earlier than I expected to, and then gave him a brief but
dramatic description of the success which had attended my first
experiment. I am afraid I was a trifle inaccurate with regard to
details, but the precise truth is a luxury that very few of us can
afford to indulge in. I certainly couldn't. When I had finished I
addressed the envelope to the Hotel Russell, and then, turning into
one of the bunks, soon dropped off into a well-deserved sleep.
I don't know whether it was Nature that aroused me, or whether it was
Mr. Gow. Anyway I woke up with the distinct impression that somebody
was hailing the boat, and thrusting my head up through the hatch I
discovered my faithful retainer standing on the bank.
He greeted me with a slightly apologetic air when I put off to fetch
him.
"Good-mornin', sir. I hope I done right stoppin' ashore, sir. The
young lady told me I wouldn't be wanted not till this mornin'."
"The young lady was quite correct," I said. "You weren't." Then as we
pushed off for the _Betty_ I added: "But I'm glad you've come back
in good time today. I want you to go in and post a letter for me at
Tilbury as soon as we've had some breakfast. You might get a newspaper
for me at the same time."
"Talkin' o' noos, sir," observed Mr. Gow with sudden interest,
"'ave you heard tell about the back o' Canvey Island bein' blown up
yesterday mornin'?"
"Blown up!" I repeated as we ran alongside. "Who on earth did that?"
Mr. Gow shook his head as he clambered on board after me. "No one
don't seem to know," he remarked. "'Twere done arly in the mornin',
they reckon. There's some as says 'tis the suffrinjettes, but to my
way o' thinkin' sir; it's more like to have somethin' to do with them
blarsted Dutchmen as sunk my boat."
"By Jove!" I exclaimed, "I wonder if it had. They seem to be
mischievous devils."
Mr. Gow nodded emphatically. "They are, sir, and that's a fact. 'Tis
time somebody took a quiet look round that house o' theirs, some day
when they ain't there."
How very nearly this desirable object had been achieved on the
previous evening I thought it unnecessary to mention, but I was hugely
relieved to learn that so far there was no suspicion as to who was
really responsible for the damage to the creek. Apart from the
inconvenience which it would have entailed, to be arrested for blowing
up a bit of mud in a Thames backwater would have been a sad come-down
for a convicted murderer!
As soon as he had provided me with some breakfast, Mr. Gow departed
for Tilbury with my letter to McMurtrie in his pocket. He was away for
a couple of hours, returning with a copy of the _Daily Mail_ and the
information that there were no letters for me at the post-office.
I handed him over the _Betty_, with instructions not to desert her
until he was relieved by either Tommy or Joyce or me, and then set off
for the hut by my usual route. It was less than thirty hours since
I had left it, but so many interesting things had happened in the
interval it seemed more like three weeks.
For any one entangled in such a variety of perils as I appeared to be,
I spent a surprisingly peaceful day. Not a soul came near the place,
and except for reading the _Mail_ and indulging in a certain amount of
hard thinking, I enjoyed the luxury of doing absolutely nothing. After
the exertion and excitements of the previous twenty-four hours, this
lull was exactly what I needed. It gave me time to take stock of my
position in the light of Latimer's amazing revelations--a process
which on the whole I found fairly satisfactory. If the likelihood of
proving my innocence still seemed a trifle remote, I had at least
penetrated some of the mystery which surrounded Dr. McMurtrie and his
friends, and more and more it was becoming obvious to me that the
two problems were closely connected. Anyhow I turned into bed in
an optimistic mood, and with the stimulating feeling that in all
probability I had a pleasantly eventful day in front of me.
It certainly opened in the most promising fashion. I woke up at eight,
and was making a light breakfast off a tin of sardines and some
incredibly stale bread, when through the little window that looked out
towards the Tilbury road I suddenly spotted my youthful friend from
the post-office approaching across the marsh. I opened the door, and
he came up with a respectful grin of recognition.
"Letter for you, sir," he observed, "come this morning, sir."
He handed me an envelope addressed in Joyce's writing, and stood by
while I read it, thoughtfully scratching his head with the peak of
his cap. It was only a short note, but beautifully characteristic of
Joyce.
"MY OWN NEIL,--
"I'm coming down to see you tomorrow afternoon. I've got several
things to tell you, but the chief reason is because I want to kiss
you and be kissed by you. Everything else seems rather unimportant
compared with that.
"JOYCE."
"Any answer, sir?" inquired the boy, when he saw I had finished
reading.
"Yes, Charles," I said; "there is an answer, but I'm afraid I can't
send it by post. Wait a minute, though," I added, as he began to put
on his cap, "I want you to send off a wire for me if you will. It will
take a minute or two to write."
I went into the hut, and hastily scribbled a telegram to Latimer,
telling him that I had written to McMurtrie, but that otherwise there
was nothing to report. I copied this out carefully in the simple
cypher we had agreed on, and handed it to the boy, together with five
shillings.
"You can keep the change," I said, "and buy fireworks with it. I've
been too busy to make any yet."
He gurgled out some expressions of gratitude and took his departure,
while I renewed my attack upon the sardines and bread.
Fortified by this simple cheer, I devoted the remainder of the morning
to tidying up my shed. I felt that I was living in such uncertain
times that it would be just as well to remove all possible traces of
the work I had been engaged on, and by midday the place looked almost
as tidy as when I had first entered it.
I then treated myself to a cigar and began to keep a look-out for
Joyce. She had not said in her letter what time she would arrive, but
I knew that there were a couple of trains early in the afternoon, and
I remembered that I had told her to come straight to the hut.
It must have been getting on for two when I suddenly caught sight of
a motor car with a solitary occupant coming quickly along the Tilbury
road. It pulled up as it reached the straggling plantation opposite
the hut, and a minute later a girl appeared from between the trees,
and started to walk towards me across the marsh.
I was a little surprised, for I didn't know that Joyce included motor
driving amongst her other accomplishments, and she had certainly never
mentioned to me that there was any chance of her coming down in a
car. Then, a moment later, the truth suddenly hit me with paralysing
abruptness. It was not Joyce at all; it was Sonia.
I don't know why the discovery should have given me such a shock, for
in a way I had been expecting her to turn up any time. Still a shock
it undoubtedly did give me, and for a second or so I stood there
staring stupidly at her like a man who has suddenly lost the use of
his limbs. Then, pulling myself together, I turned away from the
window and strode to the door.
She came up to me swiftly and eagerly, moving with that strange lissom
grace that always reminded me of some untamed animal. Her hurried walk
across the marsh had brought a faint tinge of colour into the usual
ivory clearness of her skin, and her dark eyes were alive with
excitement.
I held out my hands to welcome her. "I was beginning to think you'd
forgotten the address, Sonia," I said.
With that curious little deep laugh of hers she pulled my arms round
her, and for several seconds we remained standing in this friendly
if a trifle informal attitude. Then, perceiving no reasonable
alternative, I bent down and kissed her.
"Ah!" she whispered. "At last! At last!"
Deserted as the marsh was, it seemed rather public for this type of
dialogue, so drawing her inside the hut I closed the door.
She looked round at everything with rapid, eager interest. "I have
heard all about the powder," she said. "It's quite true, isn't it? You
have done what you hoped to do?"
I nodded. "I've blown up about twenty yards of Canvey Island with a
few ounces of it," I said. "That seems good enough for a start."
She laughed again with a sort of fierce satisfaction. "You have done
something more than that. You have given me just the power I needed to
help you." She came up and with a quick impulsive gesture laid her two
hands on my arm. "Neil, Neil, my lover! In a few hours from now you
can have everything you want in the world. Everything, Neil--money,
freedom, love--" She broke off, panting slightly with her own
vehemence, and then drawing my face down to hers, kissed me again on
the lips.
I suppose I ought to have felt rather ashamed of myself, but I think
I was too interested in what she was going to say to worry much about
anything else.
"Tell me, Sonia," I said. "What am I to do? Can I trust your father
and McMurtrie?"
She let go my arm, and stepping back sat down on the edge of the small
table which I had been using as a writing-desk.
"Trust them!" she repeated half scornfully. "Yes, you can trust them
if you want to go on being cheated and robbed. Can't you see--can't
you guess the way they have been lying to you?"
"Of course I can," I said coolly; "but when one's between the Devil
and Dartmoor, I prefer the Devil every time. I don't enjoy being
cheated, but it's much more pleasant than being starved or flogged."
She leaned forward, holding the edge of the table with her hands.
"There's no need for either. As I've told you, in a few hours from
now we can be away from England with money enough to last us for our
lives. Do you know what your invention is worth? Do you know what use
they mean to make of it?"
"I imagine they hope to sell it," I answered. "It wouldn't be
difficult to find a customer."
"Difficult!" She lowered her voice to a quick eager whisper. "They
have got a customer. The best customer in Europe. A customer that will
pay anything in the world for such a secret as yours."
I gazed at her with a carefully assumed expression of amazement and
dawning intelligence.
"Good Lord, Sonia!" I said slowly; "do you mean--?"
She made an impatient movement with her hands. "Listen! I am going to
tell you everything. What's the good of you and I beating about
the bush?" She paused. "We are spies," she said quite simply,
"professional spies. Of course it sounds absurd and impossible to
you--an Englishman--but all the same it's the truth. You don't know
what sort of man Dr. McMurtrie is."
"I appear to be learning," I observed.
"He has been a friend of my father's for years. They were in Russia
together at one time--and then Paris, Vienna--oh, everywhere. It has
always been the same; in each country they have found out things that
other Governments have been willing to pay for. At least, the doctor
has. The rest of us, my father, myself, Hoffman"--she shrugged her
shoulders--"we are his puppets, his tools. Everything we have done has
been planned and arranged by him."
There was a short silence.
"How long have you been here?" I asked. "What brought you to England?"
"We have been here just over three years," she answered slowly. "There
was a man in London that Dr. McMurtrie and my father wanted to find.
Eight years ago he betrayed them in St. Petersburg."
A sudden idea--so wild as to be almost incredible--flashed into my
mind.
I moistened my lips. "Who was he?" I asked steadily.
She shook her head. "I don't know his name. I only know that he is
dead. I think Dr. McMurtrie would kill any one who betrayed him--if he
could."
I crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. I felt
strangely excited.
"And after that," I said quietly, "I suppose the doctor thought he
might as well stop here and do a little business?"
"I think it was suggested to him from Berlin. He had sent them all
sorts of information when we were in Paris, and, of course, as things
are now, they were still more anxious to get hold of anything about
the English army or navy." She paused. "What they specially wanted
were the plans of the Lyndon-Marwood torpedo."
"Yes," I said. "I dare say they did. A lot of people have wanted them,
but unfortunately they're not for sale."
Sonia laughed softly. "The exact price we paid for them," she said,
"was twelve thousand pounds."
I sat up with a jerk. This time my surprise was utterly genuine.
"You bought them!" I said incredulously. "Bought them from some one in
the Admiralty?"
Again Sonia shook her head. "Don't you remember what you read in the
_Daily Mail_ about the robbery at your offices in Victoria Street?"
I stared at her for a second, and then suddenly the real truth dawned
on me.
"So George sold them to you?" I said.
She nodded. "Ever since you went to prison the business has been going
to pieces. He wanted money badly--very badly indeed. Dr. McMurtrie
found this out. He found out too that there was a copy of the plans
in the office, and--well, you can guess the rest. The burglary, of
course, was arranged between them. It was meant to cover your cousin
in case the Government found out that the Germans had got hold of the
plans."
"And have they found out?" I asked.
Again Sonia shrugged her shoulders. "I can't say. The doctor and my
father never tell me anything that they can keep to themselves. Most
of what I know I have picked up from listening to them and putting
things together in my own head afterwards. I am useful to them, and to
a certain point they trust me; but only so far. They know I hate them
both."
She made the statement with a detached bitterness that spoke volumes
for its sincerity.
I felt too that she was telling me the truth about George. A man who
could lie as he did at the trial was quite capable of betraying his
country or anything else. Still, the infernal impudence and treachery
of his selling my beautiful torpedo to the Germans filled me with a
furious anger such as I had not felt since I crouched, dripping and
hunted, in the Walkham woods.
I looked up at Sonia, who was leaning forward and watching me with
those curious half-sullen, half-passionate eyes of hers.
"Why did George tell those lies about me at the trial?" I asked.
"I don't know for certain; I think he wanted to get rid of you, so
that he could steal your invention. Of course he saw how valuable it
was. You had told him about the notes, and I think he felt that if
you were safely out of the way he would be able to make use of them
himself."
"He must have been painfully disappointed," I said. "They were all
jotted down in a private cypher. No one else could possibly have
understood them."
She nodded. "I know. He offered to sell them to us. He suggested that
the Germans might be willing to pay a good sum down for them on the
chance of being able to make them out."
Angry as I was, I couldn't help laughing. It was so exactly like
George to try and make the best of a bad speculation.
"I can hardly see the doctor doing business on those lines," I said.
"It was too late in any case," she answered calmly. "Just after he
made the offer you escaped from prison." There was another pause. "And
what were you all doing down in that God-forsaken part of the world?"
I demanded.
The question was a little superfluous as far as I was concerned, but I
felt that Sonia would be expecting it.
"Oh, we weren't there for pleasure," she said curtly. "We wanted to be
near Devonport, and at the same time we wanted a place that was quite
quiet and out-of-the-way. Hoffman found the house for us, and we took
it furnished for six months."
"It was an extraordinary stroke of luck," I said, "that I should have
come blundering in as I did."
Sonia laughed venomously. "It was the sort of thing that would happen
to the doctor. The Devil looks after his friends."
"As a matter of fact," I objected, "I was thinking more of myself."
Sonia took no notice of my interruption. "Why, it meant everything
to him," she went on eagerly. "It practically gave him the power to
dictate his own terms to the Germans. You see, he knew something about
their plans. He knew--at least he could guess--that the moment war
was declared they meant to make a surprise attack on all the big
dockyards--just like the Japs did at Port Arthur. Well, think of the
difference an explosive as powerful as yours would make! Why, it would
put England absolutely at their mercy. They could blow up Portsmouth,
Sheerness, and Devonport before any one really knew that the war had
started."
She spoke rapidly, almost feverishly, leaning forward and gripping the
edge of the table, till the skin showed white on her knuckles. I think
I was equally excited, but I tried not to show it.
"Yes," I said; "it sounds a promising notion."
"Promising!" she echoed. "Well, it was promising enough for the
Germans to offer us anything we wanted the moment we could give them
the secret. Now perhaps you can understand why we were so hospitable
and obliging to you."
"And you believe McMurtrie never meant to keep his word to me?" I
asked.
She laughed again scornfully. "If you knew him as well as I do, you
wouldn't need to ask that. He would simply have disappeared with the
money and left you to rot or starve."
I took out my case, and having given Sonia a cigarette, lit one
myself.
"It's an unpleasant choice," I said, "but I gather there's a possible
alternative."
She lighted her own cigarette and threw away the match. Her dark eyes
were alight with excitement.
"Listen," she said. "All the Germans want is the secret. Do you
suppose they care in the least whom they get it from? You have only
got to prove to them that you can do what you say, and they will pay
you the money just as readily as they would the doctor."
There was a magnificent simplicity about the idea that for a moment
almost took my breath away.
"How could I get in touch with them?" I asked.
She leaned forward again, and lowered her voice almost to a whisper.
"I can take you now--now right away--to the two men who are in charge
of the whole business. I know that they have an absolutely free hand
to make the best terms they can."
"Who are they?" I demanded, with an eagerness I made no attempt to
hide.
"Their names are Seeker and von Brünig, and they're living in a small
bungalow on Sheppey. They are supposed to be artists. As a matter of
fact, von Brünig is a captain in the Germany Navy. I don't know who
the other man is; I think he has been sent over specially about the
powder."
Her statement fitted in so exactly with what I had already found out
from Latimer and Gow, that I hadn't the remotest doubt she was telling
me the literal truth. Of its importance--its vital importance to
England--there could be no question. I felt my heart beating quickly
with excitement, but the obvious necessity for fixing on some scheme
of immediate action kept my brain cool and clear. The first thing was
to gain a moment or two to think in.
"You realize what all this means, Sonia?" I said. "You're quite
prepared to throw over your father and McMurtrie? You know how the
doctor deals with people who betray him--when he gets the chance?"
"I am not afraid of them," she answered defiantly. "They are nothing
to me; I hate them both--and Hoffman too. It's you I want. You are the
only man I ever have wanted." She paused, and I saw her breast rising
and falling rapidly with the stress of her emotion. "We will go away
together--somewhere the other side of the world--America, Buenos
Ayres--oh, what does it matter where?--there are plenty of places!
What does anything matter so long as we love each other!"
She half rose to her feet, but I jumped up first.
"One moment, Sonia," I said. "Let me think."
Thrusting my hands in my pockets, I strode across the room, and
pulling up in front of the little window, stared out across the marsh.
As I did so, I felt as if some one had suddenly placed a large handful
of crushed ice inside my waistcoat. About two hundred yards away,
strolling cheerfully and unconcernedly towards the hut, was the
charming but painfully inopportune figure of Joyce.
It was a most unpleasant second. In my excitement at listening to
Sonia's revelations, I had clean forgotten for the time that Joyce was
coming, and now it was too late for the recollection to be of much
practical use. Except for an earthquake, or the sudden arrival of the
end of the world, nothing could stop her from reaching the hut in
another five minutes.
I stood quite still, racking my brains as to what was the best thing
to do. It was no use trying to signal to her from the window, for
Sonia would be certain to see me; while if I made some excuse for
going outside, Joyce would probably call out to me before I had time
to warn her. My only hope seemed to lie in the chance of her hearing
us talking as she came up to the door, in which case she would know at
once that there was some one there and go straight on to the _Betty_.
I had just reached this conclusion when a queer sound behind me made
me spin round as if I had been struck. Sonia, who had risen to her
feet, was standing and facing me; her whole attitude suggestive of
a highly-annoyed tigress. I don't think I have ever seen such a
malevolent expression on any human being's face in my life. For an
instance we stood staring at each other without speaking, and then
quite suddenly I realized what was the matter.
Clutched tight in her right hand was a letter--a letter which I
recognized immediately as the one I had received from Joyce that
morning. Like a fool I must have left it lying on the desk, and while
I was looking out of the window she had evidently picked it up and
read it.
I hadn't much time, however, for self-reproaches.
"So, you have been lying to me all through," she broke out bitterly.
"This girl is your mistress; and all the time you have simply been
using me to help yourself. Oh, I see it all now. I see why you were so
anxious to come to London. While I have been working and scheming for
you, you and she ..." Her voice failed from very fury, and tearing the
letter in pieces, she flung them on the ground at my feet.
I suppose I attempted some sort of reply, for she broke out again more
savagely than ever.
"She _is_ your mistress! Do you dare to deny it, with that letter
staring me in the face? Coming down to 'kiss you and be kissed by
you,' is she? Well, she's used to that, at all events!" Her voice
choked again, and with her hands clenched she made a quick step
forward in my direction.
Then quite suddenly I saw her whole expression change. The anger in
her eyes gave place to a gleam of recognition, and the next moment her
lips parted in a peculiarly malicious smile. She was looking past me
through the open window.
"Ah!" she said. "So that's why you were standing there! You didn't
expect me to be here when she arrived, did you?" With a mocking laugh
she turned to the doorway. "Never mind," she added viciously: "you
will be able to introduce us."
Even if I had tried to prevent her it would have been too late. With a
swift movement she flung back the door, and stepped forward across the
threshold.
Joyce was standing about fifteen yards away, facing the hut. She had
evidently just heard the sound of Sonia's voice, and had pulled up
abruptly, as I expected she would. Directly the door opened, she
turned as if to continue her walk.
Sonia laughed again. "Please don't go away," she said.
There was a moment's pause, and then I too advanced to the door. I saw
that there was nothing else for it except the truth.
"Joyce," I said, "this is Sonia. She has just read your letter, which
I left lying on the desk."
It must have been a bewildering situation even to such a quick-witted
person as Joyce, but all the same one would never have guessed the
fact from her manner. For perhaps a second she stood still, looking
from one to the other of us; then, with that sudden engaging smile of
hers, she came forward and held out her hand to Sonia.
"I am so glad to meet you," she said simply. "Neil has told me how
good you have been to him."
Sonia remained quite motionless. She had drawn herself up to her full
height, and she stared at Joyce with a cool hatred she made no attempt
to conceal.
"Yes," she said; "I have no doubt he told you that. He will have a lot
more to tell you as soon as I've gone. You will have plenty to talk
about when you're not kissing." With a low, cruel little laugh she
stepped forward. "Make the most of him while you've got him," she
added. "It won't be for long."
As the last word left her lips, she suddenly raised the glove she was
holding in her hand, and struck Joyce fiercely across the face.
In one stride I was up with them--God knows what I meant to do--but,
thrusting out her arm, Joyce motioned me back.
"It's all right, Neil dear," she said. "I should have done exactly the
same."
For a moment we all three remained just as we were, and then without a
word Sonia turned on her heel and walked off rapidly in the direction
of the Tilbury road.