THE SECOND MESSAGE
“Of course,” I said, “it may mean nothing.”
O’Shea raised his eyes from the extraordinary communication that I had
handed to him, and:
“Or it may mean everything!” he added.
We sat on that bench by the water’s edge where I had met Nanette.
O’Shea continued his scrutiny of the message, and, looking over his
shoulder, I read it again for perhaps the twentieth time. Its
absurdity fogged me. Passers-by ceased to exist, and I forgot Peter
Pan.
“Perhaps,” said I, “it is some kind of code.”
“Since it is otherwise meaningless,” O’Shea murmured, without raising
his eyes, “your suggestion is excellent. You will have noticed that
there are three references to the British Museum and that the
expression ‘Two London Bridges’ occurs?”
“I had not particularly noticed this,” I admitted.
“Two London Bridges,” O’Shea went on musingly. “Very interesting--very
interesting. You see where I mean?”
He indicated the passage with the rim of his monocle.
“Quite,” said I eagerly. “But Charing Cross, Berkeley Square, and Bond
Street also occur several times.”
“But only Bond Street and Berkeley Square crop up in pairs,” he
replied, “if we exclude the brace of London Bridges.”
And now, as we sat there pondering over this nonsensical piece of
writing, came a strange interruption.
“Have you seen Comrade Zara?” said a guttural voice.
I looked up sharply. A stout German obstructed my view of Kensington
Gardens. His ample face was draped in a pleasant smile, and he
surveyed O’Shea and myself through a pair of spectacles that resembled
portholes. No doubt I was gaping like an imbecile but O’Shea rose to
the situation lightly.
“He is here,” he replied calmly. “Are you from Comrade Schmidt?”
“I am,” said the German. His smile disappeared. Relieved of it, his
face was frankly sinister. “Have you seen Comrade Wilson?”
Perhaps it is unnecessary to state that emerging from a perusal of the
letter about Hyde Park, Bond Street, and Berkeley Square, and finding
myself plunged into this apparently inane conversation, I began to
doubt my own sanity; but:
“_This_ is Comrade Wilson,” said O’Shea gravely, and waved his hand in
my direction!
The German nodded in a very brusque way.
“Show me the order,” he demanded.
O’Shea held up the demented document we had been reading; whereupon:
“Good,” said our eccentric acquaintance. “Quick! The order for
to-night!” He passed an envelope to O’Shea. “I am followed.
Good-morning.”
He moved off hurriedly, and I was still staring in speechless
astonishment when a thick-set man wearing a blue suit and a soft hat,
and who, without resembling a straggler from the Row, might have been
a Colonial visitor, came along the path. One keen side-glance he gave
us, and then disappeared in the wake of our Teutonic acquaintance.
“O’Shea----” I began; but:
“After all,” he interrupted me, “one must admit that the Scotland Yard
people are efficient. That was a detective-inspector of the Special
Branch.”
“Do you mean he is following the German?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“But why should he follow him? Who was the German?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea!” O’Shea replied.
“But he mentioned Zara! And you seemed to know him.”
O’Shea adjusted his monocle and looked me over in a way that I didn’t
like.
“Really, Decies,” he replied, “considering the admirable assistance
which you have given me in this matter--for which I shall always be
grateful--there are times when you defeat me. Why our German friend
reposed his confidence in us I have no more idea than the Man in the
Moon, nor why he confided this letter to my keeping. But his reference
to Zara brands him a member of the S Group, without the significant
fact that he is being followed by an officer of the Special Branch,
whom I chance to know but who does not know me. The weary arm of
coincidence is not long enough to embrace all these happenings,
Decies. There is some other explanation. Let us see if it is here.”
He tore open the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of paper. I bent
forward eagerly, and over his shoulder read the following:
Charing Cross, London Bridge, Hyde Park, and the Strand are all worthy
of a visit. Kingsway is modern, but the British Museum, Tower Bridge,
the Mansion House, especially the British Museum, must not be
neglected. Hyde Park merits several visits. The Mansion House, or the
British Museum, can be done in one day, but Hyde Park is the only Hyde
Park, whilst Piccadilly and the Strand are merely thoroughfares. The
British Museum exhibit 365A is not in the National Gallery. The
Crystal Palace does not resemble Buckingham Palace and Bond Street is
not the Station for the Crystal Palace. Shepherd’s Market is a
survival. But book at Kingsway. Meet you at the Mansion House.
“And now,” said O’Shea, “you know as much as I do!”
I stared at him blankly, and, as I stared, heard clocks, near and
remote, strike the hour of noon. O’Shea suddenly thrust the second
letter into his pocket and began to study that which Nanette had given
to me.
He looked up, staring intently at the figure of Peter Pan, then:
“Twelve o’clock,” he muttered. “Does the fact that it is twelve
o’clock convey anything to you, Decies?”
“Nothing,” I confessed, “except that I feel thirsty.”
But it had conveyed something more to O’Shea. A distinguished officer
is not relieved of his ordinary duties and dispatched to the Argentine
upon the toss of a coin. He is selected for his special
qualifications. That O’Shea’s qualifications were extensive I had
already learned; that they were also peculiar was beginning to dawn
upon me.