The situation at Heatherpoint was exactly to the liking of Captain
Sinclair. He realised, from what John had told him, that "Crumbs" was
no mean antagonist, and he was feverish to make the spy's acquaintance.
But the manner in which he strolled into "Crumbs's" bakehouse before
John's departure was the most casual in the world. One of Sinclair's
chief gifts was an innocent and infectious smile, and under the most
trying of circumstances he was always cheerful. With this smiling
cheeriness of manner Sinclair possessed, as is often the case, a fair
share of astuteness.
"It smells good in here," he said, putting his head into "Crumbs's" warm
atmosphere.
"Crumbs," who was kneading dough at his board, turned about.
"Don't mind me," said Sinclair cheerfully. He stepped into the
bakehouse and held a good-humoured conversation with "Crumbs." He spent
a quarter of an hour in cheery garrulity, and when he went away,
"Crumbs," from the darkness of his lair, watched him stride across the
asphalt yard towards the officers' quarters. The man's eyes narrowed as
he recalled that Sinclair had been peering at him out of John's quarters
a little while earlier. When his work was finished that night "Crumbs"
cleaned himself and had a chat with Ewins, who was smoking a pipe on the
step of the old railway carriage that formed both men's quarters in the
upper fort.
"Who's this new captain we got?" Private Sims asked.
"Don't know," answered Ewins. "He's done his bit, seemingly." He was
referring to Sinclair's Mons ribbon and the D.S.O.
"We seem to be getting a lot of changes lately," pursued "Crumbs." He
had removed the flour from his eyelashes and moustache, and his lean,
sallow, discontented face and glassy, strange-looking eyes struck Ewins
as particularly unpleasant. Sims was generous in handing cake and so
forth whenever chance occurred, but he was not liked in the fort. The
other men could not get the hang of him, and when he rose presently and
shambled away into the fort buildings, Ewins, who was expecting every
minute to be called by Sinclair, was not sorry.
For an hour or two that evening "Crumbs" pottered about. He gossiped in
the kitchen, had a talk with the sergeant controlling the leave-book,
found his way into the mess-room, and complained to Parkson, who was
adjutant, on the quality of the flour being supplied from outside.
After that the Colonel met him in the corridor, where he had no right to
be, near Sinclair's bedroom. And, as the Colonel was the one man in the
fort, outside Sinclair, who knew the truth about him, he questioned
"Crumbs" somewhat sharply.
"What are you doing here, Sims?"
"I have just been in, sir, to complain about the flour to the adjutant.
I wasn't thinking," he went on, with a perfect semblance of an
absent-minded air, "I wasn't thinking, and I came here instead of going
along to the right----"
"You ought to know the run of the fort by this time," said the Colonel,
and passed on.
It was an hour later that Sims, who had made a shattering discovery, sat
in his cubicle of the railway compartment, with the door locked, and
penned a rapid letter. He wrote fluently, in the manner of a man whose
education has been thorough and efficient. His lips twitched slightly
as his pen sped over the paper. There was a tense expression upon his
sallow face, and he pulled nervously at his long, drooping moustache.
At the head of the letter he put no address.
"_Dear Doctor,_" he wrote, "_our plans are threatened. The new officer
here, Lieutenant Treves, has been watching me closely for the past week.
He has cross-examined Ewins about the guns, and evidently knows
something. To-day a second officer has arrived, a Captain Sinclair. I
doubt him also. They both suspect me. But my important news is that
to-night I secured my first opportunity of going through Treves's
belongings. I was able to open his dispatch-box, and among other papers
of no importance, I discovered a letter from Cherriton, with whom he has
apparently some association. The letter was signed by Cherriton, which
clearly showed me that Treves is playing both for and against us. I
have suspected him for days. I implore you, doctor, to probe this
matter. If you hear no more from me you will know that things have gone
wrong. I beg of you to act drastically and immediately._--S."
When "Crumbs" had finished this letter he read it carefully through and
avoided blotting it, so that there could be no trace of its existence.
When the letter had dried he placed it in an envelope and addressed it
to "Dr. Voules, Rollo Meads, Brooke."
It was the custom at Heatherpoint for the fort letters to be sent to
Freshwater post office every night at seven precisely in a locked bag.
"Crumbs," with his letter in his pocket, hovered about the orderly-room
until the bugle began to blow seven. He then hurriedly followed the
orderly into the mess-room, where the adjutant nightly locked the bag
with his key. Lieutenant Parkson was in the act of locking the bag when
"Crumbs" shambled into the little room with an apology. He handed his
letter to Parkson, who dropped it in and locked the bag.