DEPTHS OF DECEIT
On arrival in London, late on the following afternoon, they stayed
at the Carlton Hotel. Seton told her he had some business to transact
before taking her back to her home in the country. She had begged him
to stay with her father and mother, and he had accepted, for he had a
purpose in view.
On the same evening that they arrived at the hotel, Edris, being
tired, retired early after dinner, while Darville strolled down to the
secret office of his which overlooked Trafalgar Square. He went in by
the back entrance, and, ascending the stairs, entered his private room
with his latch-key. There were voices in the adjoining room. The
office that was the eyes and ears of Great Britain never slept. The
night staff were on duty. He rang his bell, and in a few moments a
tall, rather thin, erect man, of the appearance of a retired colonel,
entered, looking very surprised at the chief’s sudden return.
“Good-evening, Webster,” Darville said, sinking into the chair behind
his big writing-table. “Send Forbes to me, please. And tell him to
bring in the Moscow file. I suppose Bennett has gone home?”
“Yes, he has, sir,” replied the ex-army officer. “He left an hour
ago.”
Darville drew a long breath as he looked around the cozy, comfortable
room. Fresh daffodils were upon his writing-table. They were flowers
that he loved--a big bunch of Emperors--placed there probably by the
hand of one or other of his female traveling agents, for all of them
knew that their ever-smiling chief loved flowers.
No one ever entered that room save Darville and his loyal and devoted
staff. Even the cleaning was done by one of the staff, because it
would not do to employ charlady office-cleaners, for they are always
inquisitive gossips.
In a few moments a stout, plethoric, deep-voiced man entered bearing
an orange-colored portfolio in which were a number of sheets of pink
paper.
“Glad to see you back, sir,” he exclaimed on entering. “Mr. Bennett
told me that you were having a good time up at Wengen.”
“Yes, Forbes, I’ve had quite a good time,” replied Seton cheerily.
“Not enough snow--but plenty of fun.” Then, assuming a purely
business-like attitude, he asked: “What is the latest situation in
Moscow?”
“I have it all in this file,” replied the assistant secretary of the
Secret Service. “It is brought down to a week ago. Mr. Bennett thinks
that someone should go there, but the No. 1 Section of the Communists
are very wide awake, and anyone we send to Moscow is a doomed man.”
“So I understand,” he remarked in a strange voice. “I must think it
over. We shall find some way out, Forbes. We’ve never been beaten yet.
This Moscow plot against us is a distinct and serious peril. We must
defeat it at all hazards.”
“There are some papers for you to sign, sir. I have them here--only
five.” And he placed some documents typed on pale green paper upon
Darville’s blotting-pad.
In impatience he glanced them over, and scribbled his signature at the
foot of each.
Then he said: “Please sit down and take a memorandum for the _cabinet
noir_.”
The stout, ruddy-faced man drew a chair opposite his chief, and took
up a pen.
“Make a note that I want all outgoing and incoming correspondence
examined, copied, and sent to me of two persons. Their names are Karl
Weiss of 84 Postgasse, Interlaken, and Edris Temperley of Stagsden
Hall near Thurnby, Leicestershire. The exchange of correspondence will
commence to-morrow. Therefore put it through to-night. I shall be at
Stagsden, and copies of all letters outward and inward are to be sent
to me in unsuspicious envelopes.”
George Forbes scribbled a note of the names and addresses, and said:
“I’ll go down to the General Post Office to-night myself. Where will
the woman’s letters be posted?”
“They will pass through the Leicester Post Office. I order that the
greatest care must be taken that no suspicion be aroused. It is secret
and urgent, and I want the copies at the earliest moment.”
“I understand, sir. They had better be photographed, if you want
evidence of handwriting.”
“Yes, tell them to have them photographed. But this is a most secret
matter. The copies are to be sealed and to pass only through one pair
of hands--those of Bennett. They are secret from everybody else.”
“I quite understand, sir. Mr. Bennett is to forward them to you
himself.”
“I expect the correspondence will be very amorous, but that will be an
endeavor to mislead us. The love expressed will mean something
entirely different, just as we had with that affair of the perfumed
gloves during the war,” Darville said. “But the matter is strictly
secret, and the staff are to know nothing. You understand?”
“Perfectly, sir,” replied the podgy little man, who had done years of
excellent Secret Service work for Britain abroad before the war. “I
will see Mr. Bennett to-morrow and explain matters.”
“I’ll be leaving for Leicestershire in the morning. I want no
telephone messages, and all correspondence to be unsuspicious. If I
ring you up from the village post office, I shall do so through B.26.
Not here direct. Tell Bennett that the matter is most serious and
urgent. The two points to watch are Interlaken and Stagsden. We can
examine the incoming letters in Berne, if necessary.”
“We have Kohler at Zurich,” Forbes suggested.
“Ah! I’ve not thought of that. We have good relations in Switzerland
against the Communists. I will think it over, and decide. The Swiss
Post Office will be ready and eager to help us, if we desire it.”
After a further chat Darville wished the assistant secretary
good-night, and went out.
From there he drove to his club in St. James’s Street to pick up his
letters, and then he drove on in the taxi back to the Carlton Hotel,
smiling within himself at the trap which lay open for Edris and her
lover.
No other man in all the country had the power to give such an order as
he had done. All letters when in the post are the property of the
Postmaster-General, except those which he ordered to be opened and
copied as precaution against enemy agents. Many had been the
temptations to examine the correspondence of his own enemies, but he
had always resisted it till now. He was being befooled; all his
happiness, indeed his life, was at that moment at stake, therefore he
considered his action justifiable, even though many might regard it as
mean and despicable. But was not Karl Weiss his betrayer? Was he not
stealing from him the one woman in all his adventurous and brilliant
life?
Edris, all unconscious of Darville’s connection with the Secret
Service, or the steps he had taken, met him next morning bright and
smiling, kissing him with a pretended passion which he knew did not
exist. Indeed, before she had slept the previous night she had sat
down and written to Karl a long, affectionate letter, which she posted
in the hotel during his absence.
After breakfast he drove her to her club for her letters, and
afterwards to her hairdresser in Conduit Street, as her pretty
shingled hair needed attention. There he left her, and went straight
to his secret office, where he sat for some time with his secretary,
Bennett, while he gave further instructions regarding the strict watch
to be kept upon the correspondence of the pair. Bennett was puzzled as
to the reason, but his duty was not to question, but to obey. Seton
Darville’s ever-active brain alone was responsible for the marvelously
acute conduct of that most important and secret department of the
Government. He pitted his brain daily against those of his enemies,
and was often compelled to act remorselessly and unscrupulously in
order to outwit those who were plotting Britain’s downfall.
Bennett had handed him a long report concerning the proposed Bolshevik
propaganda in England, together with a letter in cipher which had
fallen into their hands, and which had, an hour ago, been deciphered
in the adjoining room by two of the staff who were experts in codes.
Dated from Moscow three weeks before, and addressed “To the C.E.C.,
C.P.G.B., London, England,” it showed plainly how the Communists in
Moscow were endeavoring to equip a Red Army in our midst.
It was headed “Instructions to No. 1. Members,” and in itself
emphasized the gravity of the Bolshevik menace. The instructions were:
“All ex-Service members to get into touch with their friends in the
Army and Navy forces, and obtain from them revolvers, ammunition,
Mills hand-grenades; to buy same if unable to obtain in any other way,
as supplies from other sources are limited.
“To fraternize with the police authorities, to get to know their
duties, the time taken to patrol their beats; always to cultivate
friendship with police officers to enable data to be obtained of their
strength and places of abode.
“To obtain strength of military forces, the names of members of the
responsible military authorities.
“To assist to organize the unemployed into a fighting force to be used
in the event of revolution.…
“No. 1 Section members will repudiate their membership of the
Communist Party in the event of being taken by military, naval, or
police authorities while carrying out instructions.”
Seton Darville read it through, a serious expression upon his usually
merry countenance.
“Send it across to Scotland Yard at once. No. 1 Section is the
espionage section. The contra-espionage service must be given a copy,
with full details of how it has been secured.”
“I’ll see they have it at once,” the ex-naval commander said, adding,
“The treason and sedition laws should be codified and brought up to
date, so that anyone preaching armed revolution can be dealt with at
once. If that were done this menace would be stamped out of the
country immediately.”
“Yes; if there is a change of Government in our country we must see
that it comes through the ballot-box, and not by the aid of bomb and
machine-gun,” Darville agreed, and then, after commenting upon the
extreme seriousness of the plot thus discovered, he bade him farewell,
and walked back to the Carlton, where Edris was awaiting him for
lunch.
That afternoon they both left for Stagsden. In the first-class
compartment the girl threw her arms around him and kissed him, asking
in her sweet, winning way:
“Do you really love me, darling?”
For answer he replied in a low voice: “How can you ask such a
question, Carina?” And he smiled at her as he kissed her upon the
lips. They were, alas! no longer responsive to his caresses. The
hideous truth was forced upon him, and could no longer be disguised.
He sat in the corner of the carriage silent and broken. Was it, he
wondered, only a passing infatuation, a foolish fascination that had
seized her when in the presence of Karl Weiss, a silly snow romance
which would soon be forgotten now that she was back in England? Or was
it something deeper--and lasting?
With all his might he strove to suppress the secret knowledge he had
obtained, so that she could suspect nothing. Half an hour after
leaving London, he made pretence of being his old self, saying:
“Now that we are back again, Edris, let us forget all about your
adventure.”
“I want to forget, Seti!” she said. “I do so want to forget. I assure
you there was nothing at all in it. You have no cause whatever for
jealousy. Forgive me. I swear you have not!”
“You swear!” asked he, taking her suddenly in his strong arms. “Say
that again!”
“I swear I am yours, Seti! I love you--and you alone! No man shall
ever come between us. I repeat it!” she added, looking straight into
his face.
“Then Karl Weiss is nothing to you, eh?”
“Nothing,” she declared, though it was with difficulty that she
articulated the word. He saw that she trembled, and put it down to the
emotion from which she was suffering at the moment.
Seton Darville drew her to him and kissed her tenderly as tears came
into his eyes--tears of joy that all his suspicions were ungrounded.
His first impulse was to demand the reason she had lied to him so
consistently, moreover, why she had spent those hours in the arms of
Karl Weiss. But he refrained. The man was his enemy. He had taken from
him all that life possessed, and his one thought was of his subtle and
deadly revenge.