ON DANGEROUS GROUND
On Darville’s return he found Paton sitting in the taxi, apparently
asleep. Nothing had happened, so the detective, directed by Darville,
went off to get something to eat.
The afternoon crept slowly by. The sun had disappeared, and the mists
were fast appearing in the silent, deserted street. Presently Paton
returned, and they all resumed their patient vigil, Darville ever and
anon tinkering and hammering at the engine.
“We’ll never get the thing to work again,” he remarked to the young
driver. “We’ll have to be towed home eventually.”
But, just as dusk was falling--and fortunately before the street lamps
were lit, for the car was standing beneath one, and the illumination
would have been very unwelcome--the door of No. 286 opened again, and
down the steps came Joan and her husband. She wore a well-cut beaver
coat with a little black cloche hat, and carried in her hand a small
leather attaché-case.
In an instant Darville turned and hid his face, so that he should not
be recognized, and as they passed, McLay remarked loudly to him that
they had better telephone for another taxi to tow them home. The
moment the pair had turned the corner, Paton became interested in
their movements, and strolled in the direction they had taken.
Meanwhile, in Darville’s quick brain there arose a thought. Was the
house occupied? If not, it would be as well to enter and search it. So
he sent McLay along to knock at the door and beg for some water to
refill his radiator. He rang several times, but there was no reply. A
servant had left by the downstairs door at about three o’clock,
therefore it was apparent that nobody was at home.
Darville felt in his pocket and found the little portable tool-case
which he usually carried. That decided him. He drew from the case a
thin piece of steel about an inch broad and five inches long, which he
fixed into a handle. Then, instructing McLay to remain on watch, he
slipped down the steps into the basement, and went to the kitchen
window, finding it securely latched. For a few moments he examined it,
then, drawing the useful little tool from his pocket, he inserted the
blade between the sashes, and, after some difficulty, he pushed back
the latch, allowing the window to open.
In a moment he was inside, and, finding the stairs, ascended to the
first floor. In the dining-room were the remains of the tea which the
Caborns had taken, but the drawing-room was closed, and by the dust
everywhere it showed that it was not used. Indeed, about the place was
a close, musty odor, as of a house that had been closed for a long
time, and as he investigated room after room, neglect and decay seemed
apparent on every hand. Two bedrooms only were in a habitable
condition, no attempt having been made to clean the others. In the
center of the bed in the back room of the first floor lay four new
rubber hot-water bottles filled to their utmost capacity.
Darville gave vent to an ejaculation of surprise when his eyes fell
upon them.
He took one in his hand and found it quite heavy, crossed with it to
the fading light, where he regarded it with considerable curiosity,
turning it over and over and weighing it in his hand.
“H’m!” he muttered to himself. “More interesting than I expected.”
Then, replacing the hot-water bottle, he made a tour of the room,
opening the drawers in the dressing table and then the wardrobe,
where, concealed in the bottom drawer of the latter, he found four
little tin boxes something like those containing one hundred
cigarettes, and painted gray. At the ends of each box were brass
electrical terminals for the attachment of wires. The boxes were
securely soldered up, therefore he was unable to decide what could be
within.
One of them he took to the window, and, after making a thorough
examination, he stood for a few moments hesitating and perplexed.
By the discoveries he had made he fully realized the seriousness of
the situation, and that it was as well that he had followed the
mysterious pair to Corfu and away again. They had taken every
precaution to cover their tracks, but he had successfully traced them
to their hiding place.
Downstairs on the mantelshelf of the dining-room he had noticed a tube
of liquid glue, and this decided him how to act. He rushed down and
obtained it. Then, removing the brass screw cap of one of the
electrical terminals, he cut a tiny disc of paper to fit the
under-part of the cap and gummed it to the brass. Each of the eight
terminals he treated in a similar manner, and when the caps were
replaced in position the paper discs were hidden.
Then he carefully put everything back as he had found it and descended
to the hall. Hardly had he reached the bottom stair when he heard the
rattle of a latch-key in the front door; therefore he fled down to the
basement, escaped through the open window, and, closing it after him,
swiftly reached the street.
He found Paton and McLay chatting.
“They’ve been round to see those friends to whom Caborn paid a visit
this morning,” Paton said. “There’s something tricky going on, I’m
certain.”
“Yes,” replied Darville. “I’ve been in the house, and I’ve made some
very interesting discoveries. Let’s get back to the hotel. I must get
on the telephone.”
“The car’s all right, sir. I can drive you,” said McLay. “I’ve been
able to fix her up again,” he added with a laugh.
So the two men got in, and McLay drove back into Edinburgh, depositing
them before the North British Hotel, where he duly received a handsome
reward.
Just before eight on the following morning, Seton Darville entered his
secret headquarters, that big suite of businesslike offices which were
believed to belong to the Spanish mining corporation. He went in by
the back entrance, and opened the door of his private room with his
key.
Upon his table lay several letters which his secretary had not dealt
with, for they were in distinctive envelopes, showing that their
contents were for the director’s eye only.
On ringing his bell there appeared a tall, thin, middle-aged man, a
Foreign Office official named Gordon Howard, who had been lent to
Darville, and who was head of the night staff.
A visit from the chief at that hour was not unusual, for Darville,
when in England, had a habit of turning up at all sorts of hours, when
he would refresh himself on the old brown sherry and dry biscuits he
kept in his cupboard and work for hours, going over and digesting the
piles of reports which arrived in such an ever-flowing stream by all
sorts of channels.
“Morning!” Darville exclaimed tersely. He was unshaven after his rapid
journey to Scotland and back, and had had no breakfast. “Is Austin
back from Madrid?”
“Yes, sir. He arrived this morning by the Sud Express. He’s left his
report and gone home.”
“I want him here at eleven. He’s had two nights in the train. He won’t
want sleep,” Darville said. “I want Cator and Bellamy here also,
and--and Craig of the S.B. Call them all very secretly, and also get
me Paris on the telephone,” Darville said in that quick, impetuous way
of his.
“Very well, sir,” replied the chief of the night staff. “But there is
a lady who is anxious to get in touch with you.”
“Who is it?”
“Your servant rang up at eleven, sir, last night, and said that when
he got into touch with you I was to tell you that a Miss Temperley
wished to speak to you very urgently.”
“Oh!” snapped Darville, his brows contracting. “Thanks. But I’m very
busy”; and then, with a sigh, he added under his breath: “These damned
women never leave me alone--never!”
“Is Ayrton home?” asked Darville sharply, for at the office his manner
was quick and brusque.
“No. He’s still in Athens. We had a report from him yesterday.”
Darville grunted.
“Time he came back. Recall him. I have something for him to do,” he
said, and in the next breath he said: “The King’s Messenger from Cairo
is bringing us more dispatches. Has he arrived?”
“He was here late last night. The Marseilles-Paris train had a
breakdown, he says.”
“Then bring me the reports here. I want to see them if they are
decoded.”
“They are just finished,” Howard replied. “I’ll go and get them.”
A few moments later the night secretary placed before Darville a
rather voluminous document of some dozen pages of close typewriting,
which Darville commenced to study, while Howard went to the telephone
to execute his instructions.
Ten minutes later, while he was absorbed in the further intricacies of
a very serious German intrigue in Cairo, the night secretary put his
head into his room and interrupted him by saying:
“You are on to Paris, sir.”
Darville took up the instrument and listened. There was a low,
continuous hum, like the droning of a bumble-bee. It was intentional,
in order that no eavesdropper could listen to secret conversations.
Suddenly he heard a familiar voice ask:
“Are you there, Darville?”
“Yes, my dear Armand, I’m here,” was the quick reply. “I’m back from
Corfu, you see. Very busy. I want you over here very urgently. It’s
now half-past eight. Can you leave Paris at ten, and be at Victoria at
5.15?”
“Is it so urgent?”
“Yes, my dear Armand,” he said, addressing his chief assistant, who
lived permanently in a pretty flat at Auteuil. “I want you to take
charge of a very delicate inquiry.”
“All right! I’ll be at the office just before six. _Au revoir_,” was
the cheery response, and Darville hung up the receiver and resumed
reading the secret report of German trickery in Egypt, which would in
due course be placed before the Cabinet.
A little later Howard announced that Teddy Austin and both Cator and
Bellamy--all of them the most trusted secret agents who happened to be
at home at the moment--and also Superintendent Craig, of the Special
Branch of Scotland Yard, would be there for the consultation at eleven
o’clock.
“Good!” remarked Darville, his strong face fixed upon the document
before him.
“Is there anything else?” asked Howard. “I’m going off duty.”
“No. Good-morning,” said Darville, without looking up.
A few moments later his secretary Bennett, the dapper ex-naval
officer, entered and greeted him.
“They have told me of the conference at eleven, sir,” he said.
“Something astir, I suppose?”
“Yes--and serious this time,” said his chief. “Mr. Godal is coming
over from Paris to-day to take charge of it. I want a rest, and I may
be going away again.”
It was nothing new. Seton Darville was usually away, but daily,
wherever he might be, he kept his fingers upon the pulse of that
clearing-house of the secrets of the Powers.
He rose, and, declaring that he would return at eleven, went out and
took a taxi round to his rooms in Duke Street, where his quiet,
gray-faced man-servant, Drew, greeted him.
“You haven’t breakfasted, I suppose, sir?” was the man’s first
question, to which he replied in the negative, and Drew busied himself
at once to get him some.
“Oh, sir, there’s been a lady named Temperley ringing you up. She rang
twice yesterday, and she rang again an hour ago. She’s at the Berkeley
Hotel, sir.”
“All right, Drew,” his master almost snapped, and then, throwing off
his coat, he went to the telephone.
“Hulloa, my dear Miss Temperley!” he exclaimed merrily, when he heard
the voice of the gay winter-sports girl who had so greatly attracted
him the previous winter. “So you are in town, eh? I’m only just back
from abroad--the Adriatic this time. I’ve been awfully busy. Do pardon
me not writing to you.”
“Oh, yes!” laughed the girl. “I know how busy you always are. But I
wondered if you’ve had my letters.”
“Yes, I had them all right.”
“Mother came to town earlier than she expected, so I thought I’d let
you know,” she replied in a rather wistful voice. “Are you coming to
see me?” she asked.
“Certainly. I want to see you, of course. But to-day it’s quite
impossible. I’ve been on a flying visit to Edinburgh--got back at
half-past seven this morning--and I’m leaving London again for
Scotland this evening.”
“Oh, how unfortunate,” said the girl, in a tone of deep
disappointment. “I want to see you about going to Wengen. Mother is
only here for three days, and then we go back home again.”
“Ah!” he exclaimed regretfully. “Then I’m not sure if we can meet. My
movements for the next few days will be very uncertain.”
“Oh, do see me, Mr. Darville,” she implored. “Will you run down to us
at home? Both father and mother want you to come to us again. It is so
many months since you did so. Do spare a day or two! Come and see how
my great Dane has grown. Now do come, won’t you? Just come when you
like, but as soon as you can. I’m so sorry we can’t meet here in
London.”
“So am I, Edris,” replied the novelist. “But, as a matter of fact, I’m
very worried, and I shall be busy for the next few days.”
“But are you going to Switzerland?”
Seton Darville hesitated. Varied reflections shot through his mind. “I
don’t know,” was his reply. “I can’t promise yet. We will talk it all
over when I come down.”
“Oh, you must come,” she cried. “I can’t hear any excuses. The Palace
won’t be the same without you. The Armstrongs, the Yates, the
Sheldons, and all our usual crowd, are counting upon you. Besides, the
dances won’t be the same if you are not there to superintend.”
“So you really want me to go, eh?” he asked tantalizingly.
“Of course I do.”
“And are you going to tear yourself away from Lionel for a whole
month?” he asked seriously.
“Of course I am.”
“Won’t he be very sad?” he asked with a laugh.
“There are some things I can’t well discuss over the ’phone, and that
is one of them,” she replied reprovingly. “It is about Lionel that I
want to consult you. That is mainly why I am so eager to see you.
Can’t you possibly see me this afternoon--even for ten minutes? I’ll
come anywhere to meet you,” she urged, in frantic eagerness.
Darville reflected for a few moments. He knew that his engagements at
the office would keep him till afternoon.
“Well, what about five o’clock?” he asked.
“Yes, where?”
“Here--come to tea at my rooms. We can talk alone here.”