"Got to be tooting off in a moment," he continued. "I have just come
from the old man. He's in a nursing home round the corner."
"What, Mr. Thomson?" I exclaimed.
The young man assented, although at the mention of the name he winced.
"They nearly laid him out last night in Lansdowne Passage," he
announced. "Fortunately, I wasn't far away. Number 100, John Street.
He'd like you there in a quarter of an hour, Mr. Lister."
"But who laid him out?" I asked. "Is he seriously hurt?"
Leonard intervened, holding out a newspaper.
"There's an account here!" he exclaimed. "'Murderous assault in
Lansdowne Passage.' They say the victim, name unknown, is in a
precarious condition."
"Was that really Mr. Thomson?" Rose demanded, in a shocked tone.
"Less said, less trouble," the young man replied, embracing us all in a
common farewell salute. "So long."
He took his leave, lit a cigarette on the kerb, assumed an almost
horizontal position in the car, and shot like a rocket into the heart of
the Piccadilly traffic. In rather less than five minutes I was ringing
the bell at Number 100, John Street, and after a very brief delay was
taken upstairs to a cool and pleasantly furnished bedroom. Mr. Thomson,
almost undistinguishable for bandages, motioned to a chair by his
bedside and the nurse departed.
"They pretty nearly got me this time, Lister," he remarked.
Curiosity mastered sympathy.
"Who did?" I asked breathlessly.
Mr. Thomson lay quite still, with his eyes fixed upon the ceiling.
"A little company of men," he said, "who are dangerous fellows to deal
with--very dangerous," he repeated pensively.
"Are you badly hurt?"
He shook his head.
"I am scarcely hurt at all."
"The newspapers," I began----
"Inspired."
"You are on the side of the law this time, then!" I exclaimed
triumphantly.
He smiled.
"I confess it. The newspapers which speak of my perilous condition
exaggerate. Nevertheless," he went on, "I have decided to spend a week
here. The surroundings are pleasant and the rest is good. During that
week you will take my place."
"The devil I shall!" I murmured, gazing at his head swathed with
bandages.
"One reason," Mr. Thomson condescended to explain, "for my retirement
from an active pursuit of--shall we call it my hobby?--is that,
notwithstanding my repeated efforts to keep it in the background, my
personality has become too well known amongst the inner circle of those
against whom our energies are directed. In this present instance, the
scene for a very stirring little drama in the history of to-day is laid
in a comparatively small manufacturing town in the heart of Yorkshire.
Whatever form of disguise I might select, my presence in that place
would certainly be detected. Besides, the task before us is one in which
direct action is impossible. We can only bait the trap and wait, and if
the quarry refuses to enter, we must choose another trap and another
bait. A good deal will rest with you, Lister. If you are completely
successful in the undertaking which I shall presently disclose to you,
you will receive a parting gift of ten thousand pounds for division
amongst the three of you."
"It is princely," I acknowledged enthusiastically.
"If you succeed," Mr. Thomson continued, "it is a flea bite. Now leave
me. To-morrow you will depart for the Grand Hotel at Blackham. Before
midnight to-night you will receive from me a written report which will
contain all the information you require. Read it, commit it to memory
and destroy it. If you need further advice or help, do not hesitate to
apply to me. There is a telephone here at my elbow, and I shall never be
so ill as the papers may lead you to believe. Good fortune to you!"
I left our chief and returned to Clarges Street, impressed with a
conviction that we were about to enter upon the most important
enterprise which had yet come our way.
* * * * *
We found Blackham hideous, uninspiring, yet not without a certain
impressiveness. It was situated in the midst of a district black with
coal shafts and forges which squatted upon the ground, festering sores
in the daytime, like drops from a spilt hell at night, when the roar of
their flames was like a fiery wind, and the red vomit of their furnaces
stained the very clouds. There were never-ending electric cars, linking
up a whole series of town-villages, more public houses than I had ever
seen before, a plethora of libraries and a perfect plague of cinema
palaces. Day and night the streets were thronged. Food and living were
inordinately dear but money was plentiful, although everywhere there
seemed brooding over the place the shadow of that sullen storm of
industrial unrest with which in those days the whole country was
agitated. The shops, the cinema palaces, the theatre itself and the
smaller music halls were packed every night. We only obtained a hall for
our own performance with the utmost difficulty, and for our rooms and
sitting room at the so-called Grand Hotel, which was little more than a
glorified public house, we had to pay as much as though we were at a
West End hotel. We advanced the price of the seats, however, at the
building in which our performance was given, and were rewarded by
finding the place packed on the first night. The only empty places were
in the cheaper seats.
Late that night, Leonard and I came across a very valuable acquaintance,
Arthur Rastall, a journalist on a London paper, a man whom I had known
for years and who hailed from Leonard's part of the world. He visited
our sitting room for a final whisky and soda, and he helped us to
understand the somewhat tense atmosphere of the place.
"What on earth are you doing here?" was almost the first question I
asked him.
He filled his pipe and lit it.
"I am here," he replied, "because during the course of the next few days
history will be made in this most unattractive town. I am not alone,
either. Fisher is here from _The Times_, Simpson from _The Post_, and I
passed the _Express_ man in the town this afternoon."
"A Labour conference?" I asked.
"Something even more than that. These devils have got something up their
sleeves. They have some reason for meeting in a small place like this,
and meeting privately. There's something brewing."
"What sort of a something?" I asked. "Is it a secret from two harmless
strolling players?"
"No secret at all that I know of," our friend replied gruffly, "except
from the Government, who won't believe it, and Scotland Yard, who don't
know how to act. They say that Creslin is coming, and two
representatives from America."
I suppose I still looked a little puzzled, although what Rastall was
telling us was not altogether news. He went on after a moment's pause.
"Every country," he explained, "has been able to deal with its own
Labour question more or less successfully, except Russia. The greatest
danger the world might have to face would be an internationalisation of
so-called Labour. Creslin is the apostle of internationalisation."
"Do you mean Creslin, the Bolshevist?" Leonard demanded--"the man whom
the Prime Minister referred to as the Horror of the World?"
"The same," was the grim admission.
"But how is it that that man is free to walk the streets of any English
town?" Leonard persisted. "I should have thought such a criminal could
have been shot anywhere."
"I don't think there is any offence against the English law under which
he could be charged," Rastall declared. "Every port was watched, and
they did try to keep him out of the country. They hadn't a chance,
though. He was far too clever for them."
The story of Creslin's coming was already known to me, but I asked
Rastall a question which had been in my mind all the time.
"Tell me what there is against the Government putting a bold front on
the matter, arresting Creslin, and deporting him as an undesirable
alien?"
"Just this. The whole country just now is in a dangerously inflammatory
state. The committees for settling Labour disputes worked well enough at
first, but so much of this false, socialistic literature, anarchistic
stuff, has made its way into the country during the last few years, that
Labour, fat and well-fed and surfeited with pleasure, is more dangerous
to-day than it was in the old days of starvation. Wages to-day are an
enormous tax upon capital, but you know what the screaming Bolshevist
is. He wants all the time to kill the goose that lays the golden egg; he
wants to pull down the capitalist and reign in his stead. If ever he
succeeded, as he did in Russia, England would be industrially and
commercially ruined."
"Yet even with that certainty before us, you mean to tell me that the
Government is going to let Creslin meet the heads of all the trades
unions here and pour his filth down their throats?"
"Seems like it," was Rastall's laconic reply.
There was a knock at the door. The manager of the hotel presented
himself. Behind him stood another and a slighter figure. The former
glanced around the apartment and with a little bow drew me on one side.
"Can I have a word with you, Mr. Lister?"
"Get right on with it," I invited.
"I wondered if by any chance you could be induced to give up your
sitting room? It happens to be the only one I have in the house, and we
have a very distinguished visitor from abroad, just arrived, who objects
to the public rooms."
"Sorry," I said firmly, "but I took the rooms for a week, as you know,
and a sitting room is an absolute necessity to us."
The manager glanced at his companion. The latter came a little forward.
He was a fair, quiet-looking man, clean-shaven, moody, with
light-coloured hair brushed back from his forehead. He was at first
glance almost prepossessing. He had the nervous mouth and quick smile of
an artist. It was only his rather light-coloured eyes which left one a
little doubtful about him.
"It is on my behalf that the manager is speaking," he said. "I have the
good or evil fortune to bear a name which in an industrial neighbourhood
like this is somewhat too well known. I am Paul Creslin."
Somehow or other I had already surmised the fact, and I was able to
control my countenance. Rose had dropped her newspaper and was studying
the newcomer with interest. He seemed to observe her for the first time,
and a look crept into his eyes which stamped him at once in my mind.
There is a certain type of profligacy which is self-revealing. I felt
myself in a quandary. My hatred of the man was already born and the
words of dismissal were quivering upon my lips. Then I remembered my
mission. I remembered Thomson's words--"Success is born of the brain and
wrecked by impulse." I choked back the impulse.
"I am not a politician," I said, "but your name is of course known to
me. I cannot offer you our sitting room, for the simple reason that
there is no other place in the hotel for the young lady, but any time
you would care to take refuge here we should be very pleased, and if you
happen to be a late person, it will be at your disposal after twelve
o'clock."
The manager glanced anxiously at his guest. Again the latter's eyes
rested for a moment upon Rose, and he seemed satisfied.
"You are most courteous," he acknowledged. "I am going to my room for a
few minutes. Afterwards I shall venture to intrude."
The two men left the room, followed a few minutes later by Rastall, in
hot haste for the telegraph office. Leonard's expression, as he looked
at me, was almost of horror. Rose, too, seemed troubled.
"What on earth do you mean, Maurice," she exclaimed, "by asking us even
to breathe the same air as that hateful person?"
I thrust Leonard into a chair by Rose's side and stood on the shabby
little bit of hearth rug, close to them.
"The time has come," I said, addressing myself particularly to Rose,
"for me to pass on to you the chief's instructions."
* * * * *
In the days that followed, we seemed to have caught up into our own
apparently uneventful lives something of that spirit of waiting drama
which pervaded the teeming town and the smoke-stained countryside. The
people all seemed to be waiting for something. We, too, waited, and in
the meantime Creslin made free use of our sitting room, drove out with
us in the car which I had hired for a week, and never failed to attend
our performances. Our sitting room was almost a bower of roses and
orchids, flowers which arrived in mysterious parcels from London and
which must have cost a small fortune. I ventured to protest on the
grounds of political economy, but Creslin only smiled.
"Every man is allowed one extravagance in life," he said. "You and your
friend, for instance, drink wine and whisky and soda and smoke cigars. I
do neither. My weakness lies elsewhere."
He glanced across at Rose as he spoke, and at the expression in his
eyes, the slow, amorous, calculating expression, I had to grip the sides
of my chair and look down at the carpet towards some spilt tobacco ash,
to hide my fury. Creslin, who had been strolling uneasily around the
room, seated himself on the sofa by Rose's side.
"You love flowers, Miss Mindel?" he asked softly, following the
direction of her eyes, which were resting upon a bowl of red roses.
"I adore them," she acknowledged, "for their own sake--and sometimes,
too," she went on, meeting his gaze with a coquetry for which I could
never have given her credit, "sometimes, too, for the sake of those from
whom they come."
He glanced almost imperceptibly towards Leonard and myself, one of those
slow, inimical glances which seemed yet to betray some evil purpose.
Bearing in mind the stories which one had been told of this man's
cold-blooded and indiscriminate cruelty, it was easy to believe that if
a word from him could have wiped us off the face of the earth at that
moment, it would certainly have been spoken. Making the best of our
presence, however, he continued his conversation in a low tone. Once I
saw Rose flinch and glance up as though in distress. I came across the
room, making a pretence at filling my pipe from a jar which stood upon a
table near them. Creslin looked at me through his half-closed eyes.
"Miss Mindel does not approve of the coming emancipation of her sex," he
observed. "I suppose the doctrines of the new world must sound strange
at first to those who have counted the hard and fast chastity of the
Puritan amongst the virtues."
"What are the doctrines of the new world?" I enquired.
"They include, at any rate," he replied, in his quiet, sibilant voice,
"a complete reconstruction of the relations between man and woman."
"That sounds like Bolshevism, pure and simple," Leonard remarked
bluntly.
"The actual principles of Bolshevism," Creslin asserted, "contain more
than a germ of the truth."
"I should be sorry," I declared, "for the man who made a serious attempt
to wipe out the marriage laws of this country."
He looked at me with a cynical turn of his thin lips.
"There was never a race of people in the world," he pronounced, "who
hugged their chains like the British. In their hearts they love the lash
of authority. Think. For generations their leaders, their prophets and
their preachers have been drawn from one class only, the class which
they are accustomed to obey. The people have never found their Rienzi
in politics, in literature or in sociology. That is because of the
age-long snobbishness of the Englishman. During the last ten years, for
the first time, the people have kicked over the traces so far as regards
their material prosperity. They are being fed with doles and pittances
but they are moving forward. Soon they will begin to think. Then, just
as they have asserted themselves in material ways, they will begin to
demand an active voice in the reconstruction of Society."
"What is your substitute for the marriage laws?" Rose asked him bluntly.
To do him justice, I must say that he spoke with the conviction of one
who enunciates the most obvious truths, truths which did not even admit
of argument.
"Union between man and woman," he explained, "is intended for the
production of children. The only sane restraint which common sense
should place upon this connection is the presence of human affection.
That is the only restraint there should be."
"I see," Leonard murmured. "And what would become of the children?"
"They are for the State--children of the State," was the almost
wondering reply. "Every household should have its nursery. For every
child born, a State grant should be given."
"Is there any literature," I enquired, "setting out these altruistic
views?"
"There is," Creslin replied, after a moment's pause. "The time is
scarcely ripe, however, for its dissemination. If you would care to
possess a text book, drawn up by myself and embodying the principles
which I desire sooner or later to be accepted by the whole world, I will
present you with one."
Before we went to bed that night, the precious pamphlet was in our
possession.
The presence of Creslin in the country was now universally admitted by
the Press, although his exact whereabouts did not once appear in print.
The day fixed for the Congress of Labour leaders, to be held at
Blackham, drew near. Meanwhile, Creslin was watched by detectives and
press men alike. It occurred to us more than once that he almost
expected and certainly hoped for arrest. I spoke on this matter to
Rastall.
"There is nothing Creslin desires so much," he pointed out, "as to pose
as a martyr over here. Until he begins to preach his abominable
doctrines or disseminate his literature, he is on the side of the law.
The sociology he preaches, apart from its sexual side, is reasonable and
even finely conceived."
"Supposing he were to be arrested?" I asked.
"The police would never get him out of town," Rastall replied. "There
are a million of his followers within a radius of twenty miles from
here. I think we should see a riot that would approach almost to a
revolution. The man is as cunning as a fox. He will preach his
idealistic sociology first. The rest will creep in by degrees."
Meanwhile, Creslin spent the greater part of his spare time in our
sitting room. He scarcely now made a pretence of taking any particular
interest in either Leonard or myself. His whole attention was directed
towards Rose. To do him justice, he was a man of considerable culture
and fine perceptions on many subjects. There were times when Rose's face
seemed to light up, when she seemed to find a genuine pleasure in his
conversation. There were others when I saw her cold and wooden, parrying
the unspoken pleadings of his meretricious philosophy with a skill for
which I should never have given her credit. It was evident that Creslin
was very much in earnest indeed. He was continually inviting her to
lunch, to motor, to leave the hotel alone with him, all of which
invitations she contrived to evade. In the end, he even had the
effrontery to appeal to me.
"I gather," he said, one morning, "that Miss Rose Mindel is nothing to
either of you who are her companions."
"She is nothing to us," I replied, "except a very dear sister who has a
claim upon our joint protection."
"I will not conceal from you," he continued, "that I have the greatest
admiration for Miss Mindel--I might even venture to say affection."
I received the confession in silence. He seemed much less at his ease
than usual.
"I have met with no woman," he went on, "in whose companionship I could
find more joy."
"Then why don't you ask her to marry you?" I demanded.
He looked at me with his narrow eyes almost wide open.
"You are a little ignorant of the way things are moving in the world,"
he said quietly. "You are wrapped up, perhaps--in your art. I am
Creslin. To-morrow, if I chose, I could be dictator of Russia or
Germany, Hungary or Austria. It pleases me instead to be the spokesman
of my class in every country of the world. I do not understand the word
'marriage'."
I had never harder work in controlling my temper, but I knew that the
time had not yet come. I answered him a little abruptly.
"I am afraid you will find some of us a little insular. Miss Mindel is
of course free to make her own decisions in life, but it is as well,
perhaps, to impress upon you the fact that whilst she is travelling
with us we consider ourselves, Mr. Cotton and I, her guardians. We
should resent forcibly any offer to her which was not in accordance with
the established conventions."
He smiled in maddening fashion.
"You speak like the hero of one of those melodramas in which I used to
revel when I was a youthful student in London. What I choose to say to
Miss Mindel I shall say. It will be a strange thing to me if she refuses
to listen. Be sensible, my young friend, and remember."
"Remember what?" I demanded.
"Who I am," he answered, with cool and splendid assurance. "I carry the
burden of the new world upon my shoulders. I am the future dictator of
all human Society."
That finished my scruples. I went off with Leonard and discussed our
plans. Creslin, with all the priceless imperturbability of his sublime
conceit, remained in our sitting room, waiting for Rose.
On the day before the great Conference, Creslin was a busy man. All the
time he was back and forth between the temporary offices arranged for
the reception of the delegates and the hotel. When we returned to the
sitting room after our evening performance, he was still absent. The
three of us held a little consultation. We were all of one mind.
"On general principles," Rose agreed, "I think that Creslin is a
detestable person, and I should like to see him publicly disgraced for
ever. On the other hand, I don't think," she went on, with a little
grimace, "that I was cut out for a Delilah. So far, my conscience is
clear enough. I have never given him a word of encouragement, and if he
were to insult me he would deserve any punishment my guardians might
choose to inflict. But what does make me unhappy is the idea that I
might have to deceive him even by my silence if----"
"But listen," Leonard interrupted eagerly, "I heard him distinctly
whispering to you that to-morrow was to be his great day; all that he
needed was inspiration, that he must carry with him on to the platform
memories and hopes--and a lot of slush of that sort."
Rose nodded.
"Quite right," she assented. "I promised that I would not go to bed
to-night until I had seen him. I am sure he will be here presently."
"Very well, then," I decided, "he shall have his chance. If he is just
ordinarily offensive, he shall get the hiding he deserves, as publicly
as possible, and the chief must be satisfied with that. If he attempts
anything else--well, we are prepared."
Leonard was out of the room for a few minutes, and Rose held out a hand
to me a little tremulously.
"Maurice," she said, and there was a look of trouble in her dear eyes,
"I don't like this. I hate that man near me. I hate the idea that I may
have to listen to horrible things from him."
"And I hate the thought of your doing it," I answered firmly. "Say the
word, Rose, and we'll finish here. The pamphlet's enough. Any reasonable
Englishman would be justified in giving him a thrashing for that."
She shook her head regretfully.
"The other is better, of course; only swear that you will not leave me
alone for five seconds."
"I can promise that," I told her grimly.
After all, we need not have troubled ourselves with scruples. Creslin
had made his own plans and made them with devilish cunning. At midnight,
as we had seen nothing of him, I sent down an enquiry and was told that
he had come in quite exhausted and gone at once to his room. To Leonard
and me the news sounded natural enough. Rose's instinct, however, was
not to be denied.
"I know that he meant what he said about to-night," she assured us
uneasily. "Swear that you will be near, Maurice."
We promised, and soon afterwards she retired. Her bedroom adjoined the
sitting room, and after she had passed through the connecting door we
heard the click of the turning key on the other side. The outside door,
opening upon the corridor, was secured by a bolt. It certainly seemed as
though she could have no cause for fear. Leonard and I, however, took up
our vigil behind a black lacquer screen at the farther end of the room.
We heard the slow dying away of the footsteps upon the pavement below,
the lessening scream of the electric cars, and finally silence. One
o'clock struck, and half-past. We had both of us given up the idea that
anything was likely to happen, when the door of the sitting room was
quietly opened, and Creslin, in his dressing gown and slippers, entered.
He stood listening for a moment, as though to make sure that he had not
been followed. Then he turned on the electric light, drew a key from his
pocket--a new, shining key--rubbed it with a little oil, and stole
across the room towards the door which led into Rose's apartment. He
essayed no knock, no whispered invitation. He fitted the key noiselessly
into the lock, turned it softly and disappeared. In five seconds we
heard the sound of her muffled cry. In ten we had dragged him out into
the sitting room. He lay on the carpet, looking at us with frightened
eyes, and that expression upon his face which had so often puzzled me
now made clear. The man was a coward.
"What are you going to do?" he whimpered.
"Horsewhip you first," I told him, "and afterwards punish you. I
shouldn't call out, if I were you," I added, as he opened his lips.
"There's the skeleton key still in the door there, and the hotel is full
of journalists. Better make up your mind to go through with it."
"If you do me an injury," he cried, "the people to-morrow will tear you
limb from limb."
"Get up," I ordered roughly. "We're taking our chance about that."
* * * * *
Mr. Thomson presided over our usual banquet, a few evenings later, in
the dining room of a suite at the Ritz. He was a little gaunt and pale,
but otherwise showed few signs of his indisposition. By the side of the
plate of each one of us was an envelope, which he begged us not to open
until the end of the festivities.
"You three," he said musingly, "especially you, Lister, have put your
finger upon one of the quaintest features of the psychology of these
days. Reason and argument, common sense, statesmanlike appeal, may all
fail. It is ridicule alone which kills. You three, my trusted
confederates, have probably prevented a revolution. You have brought to
an end in ridicule and disgust a great social upheaval."
"Helped by the Press," I reminded him.
"Helped by the Press, without a doubt," he assented. "Their tone was in
every respect admirable. The _Daily Hour_ cartoon of Creslin, the
pure-minded idealist, staggering to his feet from the bench in the Town
Hall Square, tarred and feathered, a disgraced debauchee, with fragments
of his pamphlet sticking in pieces to his body, and another copy of it
hung around his neck, was the most wonderful thing in educational
journalism. All the same, Lister, you had a narrow escape. It was the
women who saved you."
"The women and again the Press," I reminded him. "Just as the people
themselves were hesitating, the morning papers came out with a
humourous recital of the true story and a digest of the pamphlet.
Creslin could never again present a heroic picture to any one. The only
earthly chance he ever had of posing successfully as a prophet of the
new social law would have been the possession of a personal character of
unblemished purity."
"At the same time," Mr. Thomson observed, a little gravely, "I want you
to remember this. Creslin has many friends of his own ilk, friends who
knew his real character and who were indifferent. I think a short sea
voyage would be good for you and Miss Mindel, at any rate. I will speak
of that again presently."
I met Rose's eyes, and with the knowledge that our compact ended that
evening I attempted no more concealment. She looked for a moment
startled--and then I knew.
"As this is our last official reunion," our host continued, "I am
reminded that there are a good many questions which you have asked me at
various times during our association, the answers to which I have
postponed until this evening. Question me now as much as you will."
"Let me start," Rose begged. "I asked the first question, remember. When
you arrested Mountjoy, for whom were you acting? Were you for the
police, or just an ordinary informer?"
"For neither," was the calm reply. "I have been for ten years the head
of the Home Secret Service, an institution, I believe," he added, "which
is never mentioned, and which not one person in a thousand knows
anything about. The Secret Service still possesses the minute book I
found on Mountjoy. If it had come into the hands of the police, they
would have been compelled to have taken indiscriminate action and the
results would have been disastrous."
"The jewels which you took from Kinlosti?" I asked.
"They were sold, and the amount stands to the credit of the Secret
Service funds."
"What became of the treasure which was found in the Spens chateau?"
"It was all returned to its various owners. The Baroness sought my aid
because she, too, is a member of our Secret Service."
"And Naida?"
"There was one of our complete successes," Mr. Thomson replied. "No
court could have tried Kansky. There was no possible way in which he
could have been brought to book for his crimes. The Secret Service
undertook to dispose of him and it did."
"And what about the boy Arthur Dompers and his tutor Duncombe?" Rose
asked.
"A little outside our ordinary course of business," Mr. Thomson
admitted. "Some one or other, however, managed to convince Scotland Yard
that Duncombe meant mischief, and I took the matter up to oblige them."
"What about the Duke and the Lorringham jewels?" Leonard enquired.
"That affair was passed over to my supervision," our chief explained,
"because the Lorringham jewels are looked upon as a sort of national
asset in the country, and their retention here is considered advisable
for diplomatic reasons."
"Tell us," Rose begged, "exactly the meaning of the attack upon you in
the Landsdowne Passage."
Mr. Thomson made a little grimace.
"It simply means," he admitted, "that the agents of the Black Peril have
a secret service almost equal to our own. They flattered me so far as to
believe that I was the only man likely to render abortive the great
stroke which Creslin intended to deliver here. Hence their endeavour to
anticipate my activities."
"You seem to have unlimited powers," Leonard said thoughtfully. "Doesn't
it ever occur to you, sir, to make wider use of them? For instance,
every Englishman knows Creslin was a terrible danger to the country. He
stood for revolution, disorganisation and anarchy. Why didn't you have
him secretly put out of the way?"
"Because the men who share with me the responsibilities of my position,"
Mr. Thomson replied, "my lieutenants and coadjutors, are men of
imagination. We try to see a little beyond the actual circumstances with
which we are confronted. It would have been the easiest matter in the
world for us to have wiped Creslin from the face of the earth, but if we
had done so, his principles would have lived after him. Everything
except the man's corporal frame would have survived. To-day, a certain
amount of the fascination of his doctrines has perished in the morass of
ridicule which has sucked the man under. His doctrines never had a
moment's chance in this country unless they were preached by a man of
personal purity. We did better than slay Creslin. We made him
ridiculous."
"What made you first approach us at Cromer?" Rose asked, with a touch of
feminine curiosity. "What was there about us, I mean, which made you
think we might be useful?"
"The fact, perhaps, that you looked so innocuous," was the smiling
reply. "I have agents in many walks of life, and the one thing I aim at
as much as possible is to select recruits who not only appear
simple-minded and innocent, but who actually are. You are none of you
intriguers by disposition; you are simple English gentlepeople. You
have escaped suspicion many times for this reason and have therefore
been able to succeed, when any ordinary agent would have been suspected
from the first."
"I see," Rose murmured.
"You will gratify me," Mr. Thomson suggested, "if you open your
envelopes."
We obeyed. Then I saw what I had never dreamed of seeing in my life--not
one but five thousand-pound Bank of England notes.
"I have treated you all the same," our benefactor said. "I hope that you
will never regret this year out of your lives. I have answered all your
conundrums. I will now ask you one. What are you going to do with your
money?"
"I don't know," Rose gasped.
"I am going to buy a share in my father's business and go back to the
wine trade," Leonard decided. "Half this money will make a new man of
him."
"I am going to marry Rose," I declared.
"But you haven't asked me!" she protested indignantly.