Dacent Smith, busy in his luxurious bachelor apartments in Jermyn
Street, was going through a pile of documents, all relating directly or
indirectly to the multitudinous activities of his department. He had
continued his work for, perhaps, half an hour after his brief luncheon
interval when the man-servant entered and announced a visitor. Dacent
Smith's man-servant was discretion itself. He looked like a walking
secret, and was a big, pallid man, with high cheek-bones and a grim,
hard mouth. He was devoted body and soul to Dacent Smith, and no
tortures ever devised could have ever wormed a word from him of his
master's activities.
"Well, Grew?"
"Mr. Treves, sir."
"I'll see Mr. Treves at once."
Grew, the man-servant, departed, and a minute later John was ushered
into the apartment.
Dacent Smith greeted him with brief cordiality, then indicated a chair.
"Well, Treves," he said, with a smile, "what is your news?"
"There is very little to tell you, sir, so far. The person who wrote
that telegram signed 'Elaine,' is Bernard Treves's wife!"
Dacent Smith lifted his eyebrows; a twinkle of humour was detectable in
his expression.
"What happened?"
"She was quite deceived, sir!"
"A piquant situation," smiled Dacent Smith.
"Very!" answered John, seriously.
"You see how quickly you find yourself in deep waters, my friend."
Dacent Smith was looking at him with an expression of raillery in his
keen eyes. Nevertheless he was saying inwardly: "I like you, Manton; you
are a man after my own heart. There is a good deal of humour, as well
as courage and intelligence, hidden behind that good-looking face of
yours."
"Now, Manton," he said, "tell me about Manwitz. Are you in touch with
him again?"
"I have his address, sir, and an invitation to go to him whenever I
wish--that is, whenever the cocaine habit seizes me violently."
"I see," remarked the elder man. "Whenever the craving is violently
upon you, you go to Manwitz and he supplies your want?"
John nodded.
"It is amazing," went on the chief, "the way these fellows manage to
secure these drugs. Perhaps, later, Manton, you will be able to
enlighten us upon that little matter; but in the meantime Cherriton is
your chief responsibility."
"Cherriton showed a particular anxiety about his overcoat, sir,
containing Treves's letter."
John gave a brief report of the events of the previous evening, and
Dacent Smith made one or two notes on a slip of paper marked M. 15.
When John had finished, the elder man leaned back in his chair.
"It will take you some days--perhaps weeks," he said, "to get the hang
of things with us. At present you are to play a lone hand. There is a
chain of German emissaries working against us--some traitors and some
spies--who pass information from all our dockyards to London, and thence
to Germany. I want you to get into contact with one of the links of
this chain--any link will serve our purpose. You must do all you can to
keep the confidence of Cherriton and Manwitz. If they set you upon any
task, carry it through absolutely. If papers or documents are given to
you to be delivered elsewhere, don't fail to act absolutely according to
their instructions. If you can get a sight of the documents, and
memorise them during transit, do so, of course. This applies to letters
or documents which may be handed to you by strangers--other German
spies. Do you understand the importance of all this?"
John assured him that he did.
"It appears to me, sir," he added, "that by doing this I shall myself
become a sort of link in their chain."
The great man looked at him with eyes of approbation.
"Exactly," he responded; "that is what you will be. Information is
leaking out of England day by day, hour by hour--rippling along these
chains of which I speak."
Half an hour later, John took his departure from the chief's sumptuous
bachelor apartments. He had learned many things that amazed him, and
one of these things, which filled him with fury and loathing, was that
there were indeed traitors in unexpected places, that there were
British-born people, few, but active, who were willing to sell their
country into the power of the enemy.
"I hope it won't be my destiny to run across one of these gentry,"
thought John; "for even the chief himself would find it hard to make me
keep my hands off him."
And yet that night, in a few brief hours, he was to find himself in
contact with just such a traitor.
Reaching the corner of Jermyn Street, after his departure from Dacent
Smith's rooms, John hailed a taxi and drove to Hampstead Tube at
Tottenham Court Road. Here he took train to Hampstead, and made his way
towards the address Manwitz had given him. The address was Cherriton's,
and when John arrived there he found that the unamiable captain occupied
a suite of rooms in a large, old-fashioned house near the Heath. The
house was maintained by a retired butler, who received John at the door.
The butler ascended to a handsomely furnished, spacious drawing-room on
the first floor. Here Manners was seated at a grand piano, and
Cherriton, deep in an arm-chair, was reading an English Pacifist
pamphlet.
"Is that a telegram?" asked Cherriton, as the door opened.
"No, sir," answered the man; "it is a Mr. Bernard Treves called in to
see Mr. Manners."
Two minutes later John stepped into the room.
"Did you get your overcoat?" he asked, shaking hands with Cherriton.
The fair man nodded.
"Many thanks," he said.
He had spent the earlier part of that day inquiring into the existence,
status, and habits of John Manton. He was still not quite satisfied as
to his visitor's release from Scotland Yard, and at that very moment he
was awaiting a telegram from the Isle of Wight which would either
increase his suspicions or remove them altogether. In the meantime, he
preferred to trust John to a certain extent.
"You have come at an opportune time, Treves," he said.
John was seated now, and this time accepted a cigarette from the Baron's
case. Suddenly, Rathenau looked him full in the face.
"You and I, Treves," he said, "have both been treated damnably!"
"Damnably!" answered John, wondering what was coming. The other
continued:
"But there comes a time, Treves, eh, when the worm turns? You turned
and I turned! You cast in your lot with our friend Manners, who knows
how to appreciate loyalty! Manners," he continued, in the ironical tone
that was his general habit, "fat and stupid and lazy as he is, is always
willing to pay for loyalty!"
John looked into the Baron's thick-skinned, pallid face, into the
steel-like eyes, and smiled inwardly. A pause came. John leaned
forward.
"Cherriton," he said, "what are you leading up to?"
Manners, from the piano-stool, spoke up.
"Ah, you see, Cherriton--he is sharp, our friend Treves. Tell him what
you want, Cherriton, straight out!"
He rose, came, for all his great bulk, softly across the room. He laid
a fat hand on John's shoulder and looked down at him.
"Bernard," he half whispered, "you shall have all you want of
everything. Money--and the other thing. I want you to throw in your lot
with me as the good Captain has done. That note," he continued, still
in the half whisper, "you gave me in regard to the sailing of the
_Polydor_ was well appreciated in certain circles."
"I am glad to hear that," John answered.
"That was good service," continued Manners, "but there are bigger things
afoot." He paused a moment, then walked round John, and seated himself
on a sofa quite near. "You have heard, no doubt," he continued, "of the
_Imperator_----"
"You mean the new Grey Star liner?"
Manners nodded.
"A monster ship--a wonder ship! Forty-eight thousand tons."
He uttered the words slowly, rolling them unctuously over his tongue.
"Nearly as big as the _Vaterland_," John said, and for the life of him
he could not help looking across at Cherriton's face.
But Cherriton was quick as lightning.
"The _Vaterland_?" he repeated. "You mean the German ship?"
John returned his attention to Manners. He could feel the web closing
about him--the web in which Dacent Smith had ordered him to entangle
himself.
"The _Imperator_," said Manners, "is to sail one day quite soon, but
your Admiralty has grown doubly cunning of late. As yet we know not
either her port of departure or the hour of departure!"
John noticed that the fat man's tones deepened as he spoke; excitement
gleamed in his eyes. He leaned forward and laid a fat hand on Bernard's
knee.
"Treves, my boy, I trust you--eh?"
"Certainly!" answered John, truthfully. "I want you to trust me."
"Good!" exclaimed Manners, uttering the word thickly in his throat.
"Now, you will understand Cherriton and I cannot appear in certain
places, but with you--it is different with you--eh?"
"Quite," said John. "I can appear anywhere without suspicion."
Cherriton, who had remained silent, again took control of the situation.
"What Manners and I want you to do," he said, "is to stay a few days at
the Savoy Hotel. A Dutch gentleman is giving up Room 104C. You are to
take that room, and stay at the hotel at Manners's expense."
"Thank you," said John.
"There will be no need for you to stint yourself. What is more, you will
have no duties whatever to perform!"
John lifted his eyebrows in genuine surprise.
"I don't quite see what help I can be in that case!"
"We are hoping that the matter will resolve itself," said Cherriton.
"Yes--yes!" intervened Manners, "everything will resolve itself
beautifully. All you have to do now, my dear boy, is to say that you
accept the----"
"The invitation," intercepted Cherriton.
John thought there was nothing easier in the world than to accept an
invitation to stay, free of expense, at a first-class hotel, and with no
duties to perform. He said as much to Manners, and two nights later
found him the occupant of the room 1046, a delightful Louis Seize
bedroom overlooking the Embankment. He had spent a day and a night at
the hotel, and no incident whatever had occurred. On the evening of the
second night, however, after dinner, John seated himself in the foyer
and ordered coffee and cigarettes.
Presently, in the great crowd moving, laughing and talking near him,
John observed a politician who at various periods in the past had loomed
importantly in the public eye.
"He is even more ugly than his photographs," thought John, watching the
important personage move among his friends. John did not like Beecher
Monmouth's smile; altogether he disliked the man on the instant, and was
the more astonished to notice that a strikingly beautiful woman of
thirty, wearing a glittering diamond necklace and diamond ear-rings,
moved towards him and slipped her arm through his. The woman wore a
deeply decollete evening dress of a shimmering silk that looked to John
now green and now blue. He noticed her flash a smile into Beecher
Monmouth's face. He saw the politician put her hand into his. Then
recollection came to John. The woman was Beecher Monmouth's wife, a
beautiful woman thirty years his junior, who had appeared from nowhere
and married him.
"She certainly is a beautiful woman," thought John. "A case of Beauty
and the Beast!"
Then, to his utter amazement, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's eyes met his. She
slid her arm from her husband's, and made her way quickly through the
crowd to John. He felt his heart-beat quicken. A moment later Mrs.
Beecher Monmouth was holding out her hand towards him. She flashed a
smile into his face.
"My dear Mr. Treves," she said, in a voice that was low and intimate, "I
have been looking for you all the evening!"
A moment later she was shaking hands with John.
"I must fly now," she added, "but you must come and see me
to-morrow--six o'clock."
A moment later she was hurrying back towards her husband, her gown
shimmering and gleaming as she went. There was something in the palm of
John's hand--something that had passed from Mrs. Beecher Monmouth to
himself.
Holding his hand below the table and free from observation, John saw
that the something Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had passed into his hand was a
slip of paper on which was pencilled: "_Imperator_--three o'clock
to-morrow. Route 28."
John was conscious of a quite definite thrill. His nerve was of the
best; he had accepted the momentous slip of paper without any outward
sign of disturbance. Indeed, he had smiled back into Mrs. Beecher
Monmouth's eyes in a manner that had won that lady's sincerest
approbation. Nevertheless, he was not inwardly calm. He felt that fate,
or destiny, had seized him suddenly in its relentless grip. The slip of
paper was still in his right hand, concealed beneath the level of the
table. For some minutes he drew at his cigarette, then, carefully
taking out the pocket-book, laid the slip in its leaves, and replaced
the book in the inner breast pocket of his coat. For some minutes
longer he retained his seat, leaning back in the delicate gilt chair.
His gaze wandered among the brilliant and fashionable crowd moving about
him. The gentle murmur of music mingled still with the chatter of
voices, and twenty feet away he caught the gleam of Mrs. Beecher
Monmouth's ear-rings, the scintillation of her superb diamond necklace.
She was talking to her yellow-skinned and unprepossessing husband, but
her attention was entirely and solely fixed upon John.
Their eyes met, and John was obliged to concede, for the second time,
that she was a woman of exceptional beauty. The art of her coiffeur,
and, possibly, the art of her complexion expert, had wrought its best
for her. Nevertheless, she would have stood out among any assemblage of
young and prepossessing women. Her husband quite visibly adored her,
and every word she condescended to transmit to him was received with a
quick, responsive smile on his part.
John was thinking rapidly, wondering and speculating. Was it possible
that Beecher Monmouth knew of the existence of the little slip of paper
that reposed in his pocket-book? Beecher Monmouth, who had sat on
numerous committees, who had more than once stood in the running for an
under-secretaryship? The thing seemed utterly incredible!
As these things flashed through John's mind, realisation slowly came to
him that Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was observing him with close intensity,
under slightly lowered lids.
John rose, and as he did so the lady flashed a brilliant smile towards
him--an intimate, understanding smile, full of meaning.
"I wish I knew what you meant," thought John, as he made his way through
the throng out towards the cloak-room.
The circulating door received him, and he passed out into the dim light
of the Strand. There was a crowd, as always at that hour, and a young
man who followed closely at his heels found difficulty in keeping him in
sight.
John was burning once more to look at the information Mrs. Beecher
Monmouth had conveyed to him. But caution forbade anything of the sort.
He was determined that this, his first swim in deep waters, should
achieve a successful issue. His chief desire in life was to make good
in Dacent Smith's eyes, and, moreover, obeying his chief's instructions,
he had already indelibly impressed upon his memory the portentous
sentence: "_Imperator_--three o'clock to-morrow. Route 28."
The word "treachery" floated into his mind, and filled him with rage.
Until now he had been outside--one of the public. But to-night the
curtain had been drawn aside. He felt himself engaged in the secret
fight which is for ever taking place beneath the surface--the fight
between our own secret service and the spies and traitors in the pay of
the other nations.
At Hampstead, John emerged from the Tube and made his way through the
darkness of Well Walk. Presently he turned to the left, through an
alley, crossed a square of shabby-looking houses, and ascended a further
closely-built, narrow street, leading towards Cherriton's residence.
The young man who had followed him from the Savoy was still in his wake.
At this point, however, he apparently ceased his pursuit, and vanished
up a side alley.
John, who had been aware of footsteps for some minutes, halted and
looked behind him. The road was empty, and the suspicion that had been
growing on him vanished. Nevertheless, he laid a hand on his hip
pocket, assured himself that he was prepared for eventualities and moved
forward again.
"I'll give this nefarious bit of news to Cherriton, then hop down to
Dacent Smith and report the fact as quickly as I can," thought John.
He reached the top of Christ Church Road and paused to recollect which
turning was the right one. At that moment some one moved in the shadow
of the church railings near him, and before John could turn his head a
doubled fist smote him heavily. The attack was so sudden, unexpected
and swift that before he could in any way retaliate a second blow had
been delivered.
His assailant leaped through the air, clasped two strong hands round his
neck, and fell into the road, still gripping for all he was worth.
The two struggled ignominiously, and John became aware that the
stranger, who had released one hand grip, was groping for the precious
pocket-book. For the first time John was able to aim a blow, then, with
a violent twist, he drew himself uppermost, and plunged his knee heavily
into the other's chest. In the dim light he observed that his opponent
was young. John was already aware that he had met no mean antagonist,
and he was taking no chances.
The downward blow he now delivered on the other man's countenance
staggered him for a moment. He wrenched himself free and stood upright
on his feet.
His enemy was prone, but only for a moment.
"You've got a good deal of spirit, my young friend," said John, through
his teeth, "but you'll get nothing from me, except another punch like
the last! Now, get up!"
"Thanks," returned the other.
He rose and began to dust his clothes carefully. John did not like the
man's attitude. He was quite obviously preparing to make another
attack.
"Now," commanded John, moving back a pace, "don't try that with me!"
He stepped back and reached for the Colt weapon that reposed in his
pocket.
"I should hate to do anything drastic," he continued; "but if you make
it a habit to leap at people in the dark, and to aim half-arm jolts at
strangers, you must take the consequences."
"I am prepared to take anything that is coming to me!" responded the
young man.
He spoke almost jauntily, and John admired his spirit.
"I evidently did not hit you quite as hard as I thought," John remarked.
"Quite hard enough," responded the other, "but please don't shoot,
because----"
Then, to John's amazement, and with the utmost daring, he leapt forward
like a flash and seized John's pistol. There was a swift, fierce
struggle. The moment was one for quick decisions. The stranger held
the weapon by the wrong end, and John knew it. Unexpectedly he let go,
and simultaneously landed a heavy left on the young man's downbent jaw.
He followed with a right, and then another left. He was as busy as he
had ever been, and he knew he was fighting for his entire future,
possibly for his life.
"I've had enough," gasped the stranger.
He reeled away, and seated himself on the farther side of the narrow
street.
John searched about, picked up the weapon from the middle of the road
and pocketed it. Then he buttoned his coat, after carefully satisfying
himself that the pocket-book was still in its place, and prepared to go.
"Good night," called the other, seated on the edge of the pavement, as
he went.
Manton, however, was in no mood for persiflage. He took himself off,
walking as swiftly as he could.
"He certainly doesn't lack pluck," mused John.
Five minutes later he reached the large house wherein Cherriton had his
abode.
"I want to see Captain Cherriton at once," he said, when the door was
opened to him.
He found Cherriton alone in the big drawing-room. He was in evening
clothes, and was wearing comfortable house slippers.
"So it's you, Treves?" exclaimed the German as the door closed. "Come
in, and I'll give you a drink of whisky; that is always acceptable, eh?"
"Always," answered John.
Cherriton was looking at him intently.
"There is a slight cut on your forehead."
"Is there? It must be a scratch."
John applied his handkerchief to the slight abrasion, then slipped off
his overcoat and took a drink of whisky and soda.
"I have some news for you, Cherriton."
"News?"
The other flashed a swift glance at him.
John slowly drew out the pocket-book and produced the slip of paper.
"You wanted to know when the _Imperator_ sailed out, and by what route."
Cherriton was suddenly and unfeignedly impatient.
"What is it you know?" he demanded.
"At the Savoy to-night," John said quietly, "this was handed to me."
He passed the slip of paper into the German's eager fingers.
"Gott!" exclaimed Cherriton, utterly absorbed. "You got this from----"
"Mrs. Beecher Monmouth."
"Three o'clock to-morrow," mused Cherriton. "There is not much time for
us to act!"
He looked suddenly into John's face.
"What a woman she is!" he exclaimed. "Invaluable--invaluable!"
"Invaluable!" echoed John.
Cherriton laid a hand on John's arm.
"Keep your hold on her, my dear Treves. Your work to-night has been
excellent!"
Excitement had brought an unusual gleam into his hard eyes.
"We will do great things for you yet!"
He crossed the room and rang the bell imperiously.
"My coat and hat," he commanded of the butler when the man appeared.
"When Mr. Manners returns, ask him to wait up for me."