THE INDISCREET TRAVELLER
Lavendale walked slowly down the sunny side of Pall Mall. It was early
in August, and for the first time he seemed to notice some reflection
in the faces of the passers-by of the burden under which the country
was groaning. The usual fashionable little throng about the entrance
to the Carlton, was represented by a few sombrely-dressed women and one
or two wounded warriors. The glances of the passers-by towards the
contents bill of the evening papers had in them a certain furtive
eagerness, the fear of evil news triumphing now over the sanguine
optimism of earlier days. It was just at that tragical epoch when
Russia, to the amazement of the whole world, was being swept back from
her frontier cities, when there were murmurs of an investment of
Petrograd. Lavendale, in his light grey suit and straw hat, sunburnt,
over six feet tall, broad and athletic, seemed somehow a strange figure
as he passed along through streets which appeared destitute of a single
man under middle-age who was not in khaki. The recruiting sergeant at
the corner of Trafalgar Square, where Lavendale paused for a moment to
cross the road, caught his eye and smiled insinuatingly.
'Fine figure for a uniform, sir,' he ventured.
'I am an alien,' Lavendale replied, watching a troop of recruits pass
by.
'American, sir?'
'That's so,' Lavendale admitted.
The sergeant looked him up and down and sighed.
'America's a country, begging your pardon, sir, that don't seem to have
much stomach for fighting,' he remarked, as the young man passed on.
Lavendale crossed the street with a slight frown upon his forehead. He
made his way to the War Office and found Captain Merrill in his room
alone. The two men exchanged the greetings of intimate friends.
'Say, Reggie,' Lavendale began, 'you folks are getting kind of nervy,
aren't you? A recruiting sergeant in Trafalgar Square has just gently
intimated to me that I belong to a country which has no stomach for
fighting.'
Merrill grinned as he tossed his cigarette case over.
'Well,' he remarked, 'you don't seem to be exactly spoiling for the
fray, do you?'
Lavendale lit a cigarette.
'Look here,' he said, 'it's all very well for you fellows to talk.
You've got the war fever in your blood. You're in it deep yourselves
and there's a sort of gloomy satisfaction in seeing every one else in
the same box. The chap who goes out to provoke a fight is worse, of
course, but the one who springs up and reaches for his gun at the first
chance of joining in, is playing his game, isn't he?'
'Perhaps you are right,' Merrill admitted.
'I'm not telling you or any one else exactly what my opinion is about
America's policy,' Lavendale continued. 'I'll only remind you that,
even when those truculent forefathers of ours went out to fight, they
stopped to put on their armour. Is there anything fresh?'
'I don't know,' was the somewhat doubtful reply. 'There is a queer
sort of feeling of apprehension everywhere this morning. The Chief's
been round to see the Prime Minister and on to the Admiralty. There's
a rumour that he went round to Buckingham Palace, too. Looks as though
there were something up.'
'You know all about it, I suppose,' Lavendale remarked quietly.
'Not a thing!'
The young American knocked the ash from his cigarette.
'The history of this war,' he went on, 'will make mighty interesting
reading, but there's another history, a history that will never be
written, the history of the unrecorded things. Gee, that would make
people gossip if they could get hold of only a few chapters of it! You
know there's something strange afoot, Reggie. So do I, though we sit
here lying to one another. I doubt whether the man in the street will
ever know.'
Merrill selected another cigarette.
'I don't see where you come in here, Ambrose.'
'Neither do I,' the other agreed. 'Still, the truth comes to light in
strange ways sometimes. Last night I had a cable from a friend in
Petrograd, advising me to buy all Russian securities.'
'Well?'
'If there is to be any change for the better in the valuations of
Russian stock,' Lavendale continued slowly, 'that is to say any
immediate change, it can only mean one thing.'
Merrill struggled hard to preserve his expression of polite vacuity.
'There are very few people,' he murmured, 'who really understand
Russia.'
Lavendale shrugged his shoulders.
'It isn't exactly my show, you know!'
'It ought to be,' Merrill retorted curtly.
'Why?'
'Just common-sense. If we don't win in this war, it will be your turn
next. Japan and Germany you'll have to face--you can take my word for
that--and I hope you'll like it. If we lose our Fleet, it's good-bye
to American independence.'
'Plain and simple words, young fellow!'
'Not so plain or so simple as they are true.'
Lavendale threw away his cigarette and stretched out his hand for his
hat.
'Well,' he said, 'I used to flatter myself that I was an out-and-out
neutral, but I'm beginning to fancy that my sympathies are leaning a
little towards your side of the show. Anyhow, I've no reason to keep
secret the little I know about this affair--in fact I came down here to
tell you. New York was talking openly last night of peace being
proclaimed between Germany and Russia within a week.'
'We've tried her sorely,' Merrill confessed doggedly, 'but I don't
believe it.'
Lavendale rose to his feet.
'I tell you, Merrill,' he said, 'if you'd been about town as much as I
have for the last twenty-four hours, you'd begin to wonder yourself
whether something wasn't amiss. These rumours and feelings of
depression are one of the strangest features of the war, but there it
is at the present moment, in the streets and the clubs and the
restaurants--wherever you turn. I've noticed nothing like it since the
beginning of the war. The optimists are still cackling away, but it's
there all the same--a grim, disheartening fear. One man told me last
night that he knew for a fact that Russia was on the point of suing for
peace.'
Merrill shook his head as he resumed his place at his desk.
'It's just a phase,' he declared. 'Look in and see me again, Ambrose,
when you're feeling a little more cheerful.' ...
Lavendale made a call in the Strand and passed along that crowded,
illuminative thoroughfare towards the Milan. Everywhere the faces of
the passers-by seemed indicative of some new apprehension. He bought
an early paper, but there was no word in it of any change in the
situation. On any printed presentation of the rumours which were on
every one's tongue, the censor had set his foot.
Lavendale called in at the bar at the Milan for a few minutes. The
same feeling was there even more in evidence.
'What's it all mean?' he asked an American pressman whom he knew
slightly.
The newspaper man nodded sagely.
'Guess the cat's out of the bag now,' he opined. 'Russia has asked for
peace and she is going to have it on generous terms. They say that
negotiations are going on right here, under the Britisher's very nose.
Things'll be pretty lively here soon.'
Lavendale took his place in the luncheon-room, a few minutes later. As
usual he glanced expectantly towards the corner which Suzanne de Freyne
frequently occupied. There were no signs of her to-day, however. He
gave his order and leaned back in his place. Then some fancy impelled
him to glance towards the glass entrance doors on his left. He sprang
at once to his feet. Suzanne, her face whiter than ever, a queer,
furtive gleam in her dark eyes, was looking eagerly into the room. She
saw him almost at the same moment and hurried in.
'Suzanne!' he exclaimed. 'What luck! You are going to lunch with me,
of course?'
A _maître d'hôtel_ was holding the vacant chair at his table. With a
little sigh she relapsed into it. She was plainly dressed and had the
appearance of having newly arrived from a journey.
'I suppose I had better have something to eat,' she sighed. 'Order
something--anything,' she added, brushing the carte away. 'It was you
I came to see.'
He recognized at once the fact that she was in no humour for
trivialities. He gave a brief order to the waiters, waved them away
and leaned towards her.
'You can command me,' he assured her. 'My time is yours.'
She drew a little sigh of relief. For a moment her little white
fingers rested upon his strong brown hand, the tenseness passed from
her manner, it was as though she found something composing in his
strength.
'I have been travelling for forty-eight hours,' she said, speaking
under her breath, 'and I had an escape, a very narrow escape, in
Belgium. You do not want to understand everything, do you?'
'Nothing more than you choose,' he replied. 'I am your Man Friday.'
'Listen, then. Your car--it is in order?'
'Perfect. I came up from Bath the day before yesterday--sixty miles on
the level and never changed speeds.'
'How long would it take you to get me down to the east coast?' she
asked eagerly.
'What part?'
She hesitated.
'A small place called Blakeney, between Sheringham and Wells.'
He figured it out.
'Let me see,' he said,--'two hours to Newmarket, two more to Fakenham,
saving a little on both runs if we escaped a puncture--say four hours
and a half, Suzanne.'
'And your car?'
'In the garage, five minutes away in a taxicab.'
She breathed another sigh of relief.
'Now I shall eat some luncheon,' she declared. 'You will not mind if
we commit ourselves to rather a wild-goose adventure?'
'I shall enjoy it immensely,' he assured her, 'if one can use such a
word at all these days.'
He ordered some wine and watched the colour come back to her cheeks.
Towards the end of the meal, however, she glanced often at the clock.
He read her thoughts, signed his bill and stood up.
'I am going upstairs to my room for a moment,' she said briskly. 'Will
you have a taxicab waiting?'
'Of course!'
She was gone barely ten minutes. When she came down she carried a
small travelling case and wore a thick veil. He hurried her into the
taxi, drove to the garage, and in less than half-an-hour London lay
behind them, and the car was gathering speed at every moment. They
passed through Finchley and Potter's Bar, slowed up through St. Albans,
and settled down at racing speed, northwards. Suzanne opened her eyes.
'I am having a delicious rest,' she murmured.
'Where would you like some tea?' he inquired.
'Not yet. Push on as far as you can,' she begged. 'What time shall we
reach Fakenham?'
He glanced at the clock on the splashboard.
'If you really like to run right through,' he said, 'you shall be there
by six o'clock.'
She patted the hand which gripped the steering wheel.
'You dear person!' she exclaimed softly. 'Now I close my eyes again.
I think I will sleep a little. Until I reached my rooms at twelve
o'clock to-day I had not had my clothes off for two days. This air and
the rest are wonderful.'
She settled back in her place and he touched the accelerator with his
foot. Through Stevenage and Baldock, across the great open spaces to
Royston, at sixty miles an hour to Newmarket, up the hill, along the
Norwich road, then round to the left to Brandon, across the miles of
heath with the stunted pine trees and miles of heather, into the more
luxurious pastoral country of eastern Norfolk. It was half-past five
when they crossed Fakenham Common and crept through the narrow streets
of the old-fashioned town. He turned to look at her. She was still
sleeping. She woke, however, as the car slackened speed.
'Where are we?' she asked.
'Fakenham,' he told her, 'with half-an-hour to spare. It's just
half-past five.'
'You wonderful person,' she sighed, shaking herself free from the rugs.
They drew up in the archway of the hotel and made their way up the
outside stairs into the old-fashioned coffee-room. She drank tea and
toyed with her bread and butter absently. She looked continually out
of the window, seawards.
'It is a wonderful day,' she said thoughtfully. 'There is no wind at
all. They might come even before the time.'
He made her light a cigarette, followed her example, and in a few
minutes they were again in the car. Half-an-hour later they looked
down upon the quaint, old-world village of Blakeney, set amidst the
marshlands, and beyond, the open sea. Suzanne was all alertness now
and sat up by his side, gazing eagerly towards the line of white
breakers. Suddenly, with a warning hoot, a long, grey car which had
come up noiselessly behind them, swept past at a great speed. Suzanne
gave a little exclamation.
'It is the car, I am sure!' she declared. 'It has come to meet him!
All that I was told is true.'
'It's some car, all right,' Lavendale remarked, 'but I wouldn't have
taken his dust as quietly as this if I'd heard him coming.'
She laughed at him.
'That car,' she said, 'is bound on the same errand that we are. It is
on its way to Blakeney to meet the same passenger.'
'Well, we're in time, anyway,' was his only comment.
They slackened speed as they turned into the long, narrow street.
About half-way down, the car in front of them was stopped by a soldier
with drawn bayonet. A non-commissioned officer by the side was talking
to the driver. Close at hand, a man in civilian clothes was lounging
in front of what seemed to be the guardroom. Suzanne clutched her
companion's arm in excitement.
'Ambrose!' she exclaimed. 'That's Major Elwell--the man in mufti, I
mean! He is one of the chiefs of the English Secret Service.'
'I shall have to know a little more about this before I can catch on,'
Lavendale confessed.
He brought his car slowly up behind the other one. The driver had
raised his goggles and was seated in an impassive attitude whilst his
license was being examined. Presently the little green book was
returned to him and he moved slowly down the village street.
Lavendale's license was inspected in the same fashion, after which
they, too, followed down the village street, which terminated abruptly
in a small dock, reached by an arm of the sea. Lavendale turned his
car into the gateway of the inn, and together, a few moments later,
they strolled down to the harbour. Only a thin stream of water covered
the bottom of the estuary, scarcely enough to float a rowing boat, and
one or two sailing barques were lying high and dry upon the mud. The
stranger, who had drawn up his car by the side of the wall, was
standing looking out seaward through a pair of field-glasses.
Lavendale gazed across the marshes in the same direction, doubtfully.
'Say, you don't expect any ship that could cross the North Sea to come
into dock here, do you?' he asked.
She nodded.
'Quite a large ship could come up at high tide,' she explained, 'but
to-night they will not wait for the deep water. They will anchor
outside and sail up in a smaller boat. Come for a walk a little way.
That man is watching us.'
They strolled along a sandy lane, through a gate on the left opening on
to the marshes. It was a grey and sombre evening, strangely still,
colourless alike on sea and land and sky. A thin handful of cattle was
stretched across the dyke-riven plain, a crowd of seagulls flapped
their wings wearily overhead. Everywhere else an intense and almost
mournful silence prevailed. Suzanne climbed to the top of one of the
dykes and looked intently seaward.
'You see!' she exclaimed, pointing.
A small boat was anchored at the opening of the estuary. Beyond,
almost on the horizon, was a thin line of smoke.
'They will not wait for the tide,' she told him, 'not the full tide,
that is. They will come up as soon as that sailing boat can make the
passage.'
'And who,' Lavendale inquired, 'will be the passenger?'
Her eyes flashed for a moment.
'He will be the man,' she said solemnly, 'who seeks to destroy France.'
...
They wandered a little way further out into the marshland. The air
seemed to possess a peculiar saltiness--even in that slightly moving
breeze they could feel the brackish taste upon their lips. They
watched the tidal way grow deeper every minute. On either side of them
the narrow dykes and curving waterways grew fuller and fuller with the
tendrils of the sea. About a mile from the distant coast-line the
steamer seemed to have come to an anchor, and the white-sailed boat was
fluttering about her. Suzanne took Lavendale's arm. He could feel
that she was trembling.
'Look here,' he begged, 'tell me a little more of what is going to
happen?'
'Somebody will be landed from that steamer,' she said. 'They will come
up here, get into the motor-car and start for London. That some one
will be empowered to put certain propositions before the Russian
Ambassador here, which he in his turn can convey to the Tsar in code.
Those propositions will be for a peace which will exclude my country
and yours, which will give Russia, temporarily defeated, the terms of a
conquering nation.'
He laughed a little contemptuously.
'You don't need to worry, child,' he assured her. 'Russia isn't going
to cave in yet awhile.'
'Not in any ordinary fashion,' she replied, 'but one lives in dread of
some terrible disaster, and then---- These terms, they say, are to be
left over for a month. Think of the temptation--all the fruits of
victory offered in the very blackest moment of despair. Look!'
She pointed to the mouth of the river. The white-sailed boat was
already commencing the passage of the estuary.
'Come,' she exclaimed, 'we must get back.'
They hurried across the marsh, finding their way with more difficulty
now owing to the inward sweep of the tide, filling the narrow places
with the soft swirl of salt-water. When they reached the raised path
by the side of the estuary, the sailing boat was almost by their side.
A man was seated in the stern, muffled up in an overcoat and wearing a
tweed cap.
'There he is,' she murmured.
Lavendale glanced at the man in a puzzled fashion. Just at that moment
the latter turned his head. He was dark, clean-shaven, and slightly
built.
'Something rather familiar about him,' Lavendale muttered. 'You don't
know his name?'
She shook her head.
'Wait,' she begged.
They reached the dock just as the boat was drawing up to the quay-side.
'Get out the car, please,' Suzanne directed, 'and drive slowly up the
street, just past the guardroom. Wait there as though we had been
stopped again.'
Lavendale obeyed. This time, as they drew up, Major Elwell leaned over
the front of the car.
'He is here, I understand, Miss de Freyne,' he said softly. 'Are you
going to stay? There may be a little trouble.'
She laughed derisively.
'This is Mr. Lavendale,' she whispered. 'He will take care of me,
Major Elwell.'
The latter looked keenly at Lavendale and nodded.
'It's a queer piece of business, this,' he observed. 'Maybe our
information is all wrong, after all.'
The other car came gliding up the village street and was brought to a
standstill only a foot behind them. The driver addressed the sergeant
almost angrily.
'I showed you my license a few minutes ago,' he protested. 'What's
that other car doing ahead, blocking up the way?'
Lavendale drew slightly on one side. A soldier, with fixed bayonet,
slipped into the little space between the two cars. Major Elwell
turned towards the passenger.
'Sorry to trouble you, sir,' he said, 'but I must ask you to step
inside the guardroom for a moment.'
'What do you want with me?' was the quick reply.
'You've landed from a steamer here, rather an exceptional thing to do
anyway,' Major Elwell explained. 'There are just a few questions we
should like to ask.'
'I'm an American citizen,' the other declared. 'I have my passport
here. I can land where I choose.'
'In ordinary times, without a doubt,' the Major replied smoothly.
'Just now, I am sorry to be troublesome, but there are some new
enactments which have to be considered. We shall have to ask you to
give up anything you may have in the way of correspondence, for
instance, to be censored.'
There was a moment's silence. The face of the man in the car had
suddenly become tense. Lavendale, who had been looking around, gave a
little start.
'Why, it's Johnson!' he exclaimed--'Leonard Johnson! You remember me,
don't you--Lavendale?'
The man in the car nodded eagerly.
'Of course!' he assented. 'Look here, if you've any pull in these
parts, I wish you'd persuade this officious gentleman to let me go on
quickly. I'm in a hurry to reach London.'
'I'm afraid I can't,' Lavendale regretted. 'I'm hung up myself for
some piffling reason. Where have you come from?'
'Holland,' was the brief reply.
'If you are really in a hurry, sir,' Major Elwell intervened politely,
'you are only wasting time by this discussion with your friend. Before
you proceed, you will have to come into the guardroom with me.'
'I'm damned if I do!' Mr. Johnson replied. 'If you lay hands on me,
I'll report the whole affair at the Embassy directly I arrive in
London. I'm well enough known there, and they'll tell you that I am in
the American Embassy at Berlin.'
Lavendale shook his head gently.
'Not at the present moment, I think, Johnson,' he remarked. 'I'll
answer for it, though, that you are a reputable American citizen.'
'My instructions are entirely independent of your nationality,' Major
Elwell said firmly. 'I must trouble you to descend at once.'
There was scarcely a whisper, scarcely even a glance between the two
men in the hindmost car. Action seemed to be entirely spontaneous.
Their car, which had moved perhaps a foot or so back while they were
talking, as though the brakes had failed to hold, was suddenly swung to
the right. The front wing caught the soldier who was standing on
guard, and the car, plunging forward with one wheel upon the pavement,
threw him off his balance. He reeled back against the wall, and almost
before they could realize what had happened, the car was tearing up the
hill. The sergeant snatched a rifle from one of the men but Major
Elwell stretched out his hand.
'We don't want that!' he exclaimed. 'Telephone at once to all the
places en route to London, car number LC 3221. Can you make any sort
of speed, Mr. Lavendale?'
'Jump in,' was the grim reply. 'You'll soon see.'
They dashed up the hill, travelling almost at the same speed as the
other car. As they passed the church they saw it a speck in the
distance, climbing the next hill. Lavendale slipped in his fourth
speed.
'Thank God for the dust!' he muttered. 'We shall see which way they
go. Hold on, Suzanne. We'll have to take risks.'
The air rushed past them. The finger of the spedometer crept up from
thirty to fifty and sixty miles an hour. They swung round the corner,
and through a tiny village, a cloud of dust rising behind, heedless of
the curses shouted after them by the irate foot passengers.
'He's gone to the right,' Lavendale announced. 'That's Letheringsett.
He'll leave the London road, though, if he can.'
'He'll try to give you the slip,' Major Elwell remarked, 'and take the
train from somewhere.'
Lavendale smiled. The finger in front of them was still creeping
upwards. They missed a hay wagon by a few inches. The pillar of dust
in front of them grew nearer.
'We'll shepherd him into Fakenham,' Lavendale muttered. 'I could catch
him now, if I wanted. They'll have had the message there, though.'
They skirted Letheringsett, up the hill, round corner after corner,
through Thursford, with barely a hundred yards dividing them. Once, at
some cross-roads, the car in front seemed to hesitate and they shot up
to within fifty yards. The light now was becoming bad. There were
little patches of shadow where the trees overhung the road.
'They're giving it up!' Lavendale exclaimed. 'By Jove, we've got them!'
He pointed forward. The road running into Fakenham narrowed. A line
of three soldiers stood across the thoroughfare. With a grinding of
brakes and ponderous swaying of the foremost car, the chase was over.
Mr. Leonard Johnson descended, shaking the dust from his coat.
'Following me?' he asked Lavendale sarcastically.
Major Elwell's hand fell upon his shoulder.
'We're not meaning to lose sight of you again just yet, sir,' he said.
'You know what risk you run in interfering with an American citizen?'
the other demanded.
'Perfectly,' Major Elwell replied.
'You don't, that's certain, or you wouldn't attempt it,' Johnson
snapped. 'However, we can't talk in the street. I'll get into your
car and go on to the inn with you.'
They drove on to the Crown Inn, mounted the outside staircase,
Lavendale in front and Major Elwell bringing up the rear. The
coffee-room was empty. They rang for refreshments and dismissed the
waiter. Johnson threw back his overcoat.
'Now, let's have this out,' he began truculently, addressing Major
Elwell. 'Who the mischief are you, and what do you mean by following
me like this?'
'I am censor for the neighbourhood in which you landed from Holland,
Mr. Johnson,' was the quiet reply. 'Your present position is entirely
the result of your own injudicious behaviour.'
'What exactly do you want?' Johnson demanded.
'After your attempts to escape,' Major Elwell announced, 'I shall be
compelled to search you.'
Johnson drew a revolver from his pocket. His manner remained bellicose.
'Look here,' he said, 'if you're looking for trouble you can have it.
I don't recognize the right of anybody to interfere with my movements.'
Major Elwell strolled slowly across the room to where Johnson was
standing, looking all the time down the muzzle of the outstretched
revolver.
'One moment, Mr. Johnson,' he said. 'Do you mind glancing out of this
window? No, you can keep your weapon--I've no designs on that. Just
look down into the street.'
Johnson did as he was bidden. Half a dozen soldiers were lined up
outside the entrance.
'Then out of the door, if you please,' the Major further suggested.
He held it open. At the bottom of the stairs a sentry was standing
with drawn bayonet. Johnson stared at him for a moment. Then he
turned abruptly away.
'Look here,' he said hoarsely, 'this censor business don't go with me.
You're lying!'
'Perhaps so,' Major Elwell admitted smoothly, 'and so are you. You
mentioned, I think, that you had been in the American Embassy at
Berlin. You omitted to mention, however, that you have since joined
the German Secret Service. As that fact is well-known to us, you can
understand, I dare say, why we regard this landing of yours upon a
lonely part of the coast with some--shall I say suspicion?'
Johnson stood very still for a moment. He seemed to be thinking deeply.
'This censorship of yours is a bluff, I suppose,' he muttered.
'Amongst many other positions,' Major Elwell admitted, 'I also hold a
somewhat important place in the English Secret Service. You have, I
trust, one of the first qualifications for useful service in your
profession--you are able to recognize the inevitable? You are face to
face with it now.'
There was a brief silence. Johnson was standing at the window with his
hands behind him. Presently he turned around.
'Very well,' he pronounced curtly, 'you've got me fairly enough. Go
ahead.'
'You see,' Major Elwell explained, 'you might, under the present laws,
be treated as an ordinary indiscreet traveller--or as a spy. Better
hand over everything you are carrying.'
Johnson opened his coat pocket and threw a few letters and a
pocket-book upon the table. Major Elwell glanced them through and
sighed. Then he turned towards Suzanne.
'If you would give us a couple of minutes, please,' he begged.
Lavendale led her out into the yard. In a few minutes the door behind
them was thrown open. The Major was standing at the top of the steps.
'Where's the car?' he shouted--'the car they came in?'
Lavendale looked down the yard and dashed into the street.
'Where's the other car?' he asked one of the soldiers on guard.
'No instructions to detain it, sir,' the man replied. 'The chauffeur
drove it to the garage to fill up with petrol.'
They ran across the street in a little procession. The man in charge
of the place stared at them, a little dazed.
'Car came in about ten minutes ago--a great Delauney-Belleville,' he
informed them. 'She filled up and started off for London.'
Major Elwell turned towards Lavendale and laughed hardly.
'That fellow's first job, he muttered, 'and he's done us in! The
documents he was carrying are in that car!'
* * * * *
Major Elwell spent the next hour in the telegraph office whilst
Lavendale and Suzanne raced southwards. More than once they had news
of the car of which they were in pursuit. At Brandon it was only
twenty minutes ahead, and at Newmarket they learnt that the driver had
called at the station, found there was no train for an hour and
continued his journey. From Newmarket, through Six-Mile-Bottom and
onwards, they touched seventy miles an hour, and even Suzanne shivered
a little in her seat. At the Royston turn the sparks flew upwards
through the grey light as Lavendale's brakes bit their way home.
'Two ways to London here,' he muttered. 'Wait.'
He took a little electric torch from his pocket and stooped down in the
road. In less than a dozen seconds he was back in the driving seat.
'By Royston,' he whispered. 'I fancy, somehow, we are gaining on him.'
They tore onwards along the narrow but lonelier road. Once, on a
distant hillside far in front, they caught the flash of a light.
Lavendale gave a little whoop of triumph.
'We shall get him,' he cried fiercely. 'We've twenty miles of road
like this to Royston.'
The excitement of the chase began to tell on both of them. Suzanne,
sitting close to the side of the car, leaned a little forward, her eyes
bright, her hair wind-tossed, her cheeks flushed, breathless all the
time with the lashing of their speed-made wind. Lavendale sat like a
figure of wood, leaning a little over his wheel, his hands rigid, his
whole frame tense with the strain. Once more they saw the light, this
time a little nearer. Then they skidded crossing an unexpected railway
track, took a few seconds to right themselves, and the light shot
ahead. They passed through Royston and shot up the hill, scarcely
slackening speed. It was a little before moonlight now, and the heath
stretching away on their left seemed like some silent and frozen sea on
which the mists rested lightly. Suddenly a little cry broke from
Lavendale's lips, his foot crushed down upon the brakes. In front of
them, by the side of the road, was the other car, disabled, its left
wheel missing, the driving seat empty. They came to a standstill
within a few feet of it and Lavendale leapt lightly out. Lying with
his head upon the grass was the driver. Lavendale bent rapidly over
him.
'The front wheel must have shot off and pitched him forward,' he
explained to Suzanne. 'I'm afraid he is hurt. You'd better go and sit
in the car.'
Then the woman he had seen nothing of blazed out from the girl by his
side.
'Do not be foolish,' she cried fiercely. 'He is alive, is he not?
Quick! Search him!'
Lavendale for a moment was staggered. He was feeling for the man's
heart.
'What is the life or death of such as he!' she continued, almost
savagely. 'Search him, I say!'
Lavendale obeyed her, a little dazed. There was a license, a newspaper
of that morning's date, a few garage receipts for petrol, a
handkerchief, a penknife and a large cigarette case--not another thing.
She pushed him on one side while she felt his body carefully. The man
opened his eyes, groaning.
'My leg!' he muttered.
Lavendale stood up.
'I think that's all that's the matter with him,' he
pronounced--'fracture of the leg. We'd better take him back to the
hospital.'
'Leave him alone,' she ordered. 'Come here with me at once.'
Lavendale obeyed mutely. She sprang up into the dismantled car and
began feeling the cushions.
'Look in the pockets,' she directed.
Lavendale turned them inside out. There were maps, a contour book, an
automobile handbook, more garage receipts, an odd glove--nothing of
interest. Suddenly Suzanne gave a little cry. She bent closer over
the driving cushion, pulled at a little hidden tab, opened it. There
reposed a letter in a thick white envelope, the letter of their quest.
Lavendale flashed his electric torch upon it. It was addressed in
plain characters:--
_To His Excellency._
He thrust it into his pocket.
'Look here,' he insisted, 'we've found what we want. We must see about
that man now.'
They lifted him into their car and drove him back to the hospital.
Lavendale left money, called at the police-station and gave information
about the accident. Then they ran up to the hotel and stood side by
side for a moment in the dimly-lit, stuffy coffee-room. He drew the
letter from his pocket.
'Well?' he asked.
She glanced at the seal--huge and resplendent.
'It is only the first part of our task that is done,' she sighed, 'yet
everything is ready for the second. That letter will be delivered. It
is the answer we want.'
She took the letter and placed it in the small bag she was carrying.
'Some sandwiches, please,' she begged, 'and then London.'
* * * * *
Twenty-four hours later they sat in her little sitting-room. Suzanne
was restless and kept glancing at the clock, lighting cigarettes and
throwing them away. Often she glanced at Lavendale, imperturbable, a
little troubled.
'Why do you frown?' she demanded.
'I don't know,' he answered simply. 'This business has its dark side,
you know. I was thinking of it from your point of view. You are going
to open a friend's letter--that's what it comes to. You're on fire to
see whether your friend, whom you should trust, is as honourable as you
think him. It leaves an unpleasant flavour, you know.'
She came to a standstill before him.
'My friend,' she said, 'you have something yet to learn in our
profession. It is this--honour and joy, conduct itself, idealism, all
those things that make up the mesh of life, lose their significance to
the man or woman who works for his country as I have done, as you have
commenced to do. I am for France alone, and for France's sake I have
no character. For France's sake I have sent a dummy messenger to the
Prince. For France's sake I shall open the reply. It may tell me
everything, it may tell me nothing, but one must be warned.'
There was a ring at the bell. A young man entered, closing the door
behind him. Suzanne almost sprang towards him.
'You have the answer?' she cried.
The messenger bowed. Suzanne was suddenly calm. She tore open the
long, thick envelope with trembling fingers. She peered inside for a
moment, doubtfully. Then her whole face relaxed, her eyes flashed with
joy. She held the envelope up over the table. A little stream of torn
pieces of paper fell from it. Her eyes were moist as she watched them.
'It is the offer of our enemy,' she cried, 'and the answer of our ally!
Some scraps of paper!'