When Mrs. Monmouth reached the hotel in Newport, something over an hour
after bidding Parkson farewell, Cecily awaited her in the little
sitting-room.
"Are you ready, madame, to dress for dinner?" asked the maid.
"Yes, Cecily, and I shall dine here to-night."
She went into the bedroom, and Cecily disrobed her. During this ceremony
the girl hesitated once or twice on the point of speaking, then
refrained.
"Well, what is it, Cecily? What is it you want to say?"
"It is something important, madame, that has occurred."
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned and opened her eyes in interrogation.
"What, for instance?" she demanded.
Cecily, who was at the wardrobe, took out her mistress's evening skirt.
"To-day, madame, when you were away, I made acquaintance of one of the
men at Heatherpoint Fort----"
"Ah!" ejaculated Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, suddenly interested; "so
soon--that was clever of you."
"He told me, in regard to Sims, madame, he merely left the fort----"
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth nodded indifferently; she was disappointed.
"Is that all you learned, Cecily?"
"No, madame. I learned also that Lieutenant Treves, who was supposed by
us to be staying with his father, was, however, at that time acting as
one of the officers at Heatherpoint."
This was the first Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had heard of John's presence at
the fort. She was at first inclined to disbelieve it. Then, when
Cecily proved circumstantially that the statement was true, Mrs. Beecher
Monmouth felt inclined to dismiss the matter as of no moment. If Treves
had been at Heatherpoint, he was there evidently with the knowledge of
von Kuhne, and possibly was acting in von Kuhne's interests, and, for
her part, she was not in the least inclined to doubt John--he was one of
her admirers. A more resourceful and more attractive man than Parkson,
and, nevertheless, equally a victim of her charms. She flattered
herself she could do a great deal with Bernard Treves. As for his
attempting to deceive her, that seemed out of the question. She pointed
out to Cecily that Treves's stay at Heatherpoint Fort did not mean that
the young man had betrayed the German secret service, which was
rewarding him so handsomely.
Cecily, however, had a further and more serious statement to make.
"When I am suspicious, madame," she said, "I am thinking not so much of
Mr. Treves's visit to the fort----"
She was at Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's back now, hooking her dress, and a
silence fell.
"Well?" demanded her mistress shortly.
"I am thinking, madame," went on Cecily, "of the night of Mr. Beecher
Monmouth's death."
She paused again, but her mistress made no remark, and Cecily went on:
"On that night, madame, when I had folded away your things, I took a
skirt into the housekeeper's room to brush. While I brushed it I talked
with Mr. Duckett, the butler, who was also there. There was no ring at
the front-door bell, madame--and yet when I returned to your bedroom
there was a light there."
"You left it on before you went down, Cecily!"
"No, madame, I turned it off. I was very surprised to see the light, as
I knew you were out, madame, and I--I----"
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned and scrutinised the maid's sallow face and
bead-like eyes.
"You looked through the keyhole!" she said.
"Yes, madame."
"And saw my husband, who had come back unexpectedly."
"No, madame; I saw Mr. Treves. Mr. Beecher Monmouth had not come home
then; and Mr. Treves, madame, was standing near your dressing-table with
a small box in his hands."
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth flashed an intense glance upon her.
"What sort of box?"
"A black box, madame, the one you kept among your furs."
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's hand suddenly leapt out and gripped Cecily's
wrist. Her voice grew low, little more than a hissing whisper.
"What are you saying, Cecily? What was Mr. Treves doing?"
"I don't know, madame."
Cecily twisted her arm, attempting to free it.
"Please, madame, you are hurting my wrist!"
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth thrust forth her face--her brilliant eyes had
grown hard as agate.
"Why did you never tell me this before?"
"I thought, madame, you knew he was there."
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth relaxed her grip; she stepped back a pace or two
and threw up her head.
"God in heaven, what a fool you are!"
"It was natural I should think that," protested Cecily, recoiling a step
or two.
"Natural! You idiot!"
"He came in with your key, madame."
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth stared in utter amazement.
"My key?"
"Yes, madame; I saw him fling something under the table, and found
afterwards it was your key. He must have taken it from your bag,
madame, when he visited you in the afternoon."
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth suddenly twisted on her heel and began to pace the
room. The truth had smitten her like a blow. Wild thoughts surged
through her brain. All these long months she had believed herself
tricking and duping Bernard Treves--her business in life was to trick,
dupe, and mould men to her own ends, to the ends of the Fatherland, to
the imposition of its monstrous Kultur upon the world--and now this man,
this handsome, drug-sodden weakling had out-manoeuvred her! She had spun
a web for him, had toyed with him, expended her charm upon him, and all
the time he had been secretly and darkly laughing in his sleeve.
Instead of a friend and a tool, he had been an astute and daring enemy!
Enemy--that was the word. An enemy of infinite danger to herself, to
von Kuhne, to Cherriton, to Manwitz--to them all. An enemy to the
Fatherland! An enemy to the great, crushing blow that was about to fall
upon those arrogant and high-stomached English!
Her concealed letters, that meant everything, that exposed everything,
had been found--not by her husband--but by this cool and steel-nerved,
subtle-witted enemy--this young man who now, from that evidence, could
piece together all her life-history.
As this thought flashed into her mind, she saw her own immediate
jeopardy. She lacked nothing of courage; and, being a woman, it was not
her own physical peril, nor the wrecking of von Kuhne's plan, that
struck her deep--it was not this, but her own vanity that was stricken.
She had made many advances to Bernard Treves--she had given much. And,
as she thought of the past, a murderous and implacable hate blossomed in
her mind against John. An instinct to seize something and rend it to
shreds grappled her. She longed to slap Cecily--first on one side of
her sallow face and then on the other. She would have liked to take
Cecily's arm and twist it until the woman yelled with pain.
But as these things were not permissible, she sat down and wrote a fiery
and vitriolic letter to General von Kuhne. She cared nothing now for von
Kuhne's authority; they were all in danger. This pleasant, amiable
young Englishman had obviously acted against them from the very first.
They believed him to be a drug-taker and a discredited English officer
with a grievance. And all the time he had been something utterly
different.
She wrote this news to von Kuhne, and poured her contempt upon him. She
knew these things would hit the chief of the German service between the
eyes, and she revelled in the thought. And all the time her intense and
passionate nature dwelt upon the thing that must befall Bernard Treves.
How much information Treves had conveyed to his department she did not
know; but this she knew, that von Kuhne and his myrmidons would
effectually stop his mouth. The dark corps of espionage would add
another death, another extinction to its secret crimes.
When Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had finished the letter, she closed it,
addressed it to Godfrey Manners, Esq., and handed it to Cecily.
"You will take this to Mr. Manners now, and ask him to deliver it to
Doctor Voules first thing to-morrow. The doctor is in London to-day, but
he will return in the morning. Tell Mr. Manners that the letter is of
the utmost importance."
"Very good, madame."
Mrs. Beecher Monmouth detained her a few minutes, questioning her as to
Treves's visit on the night of Beecher Monmouth's death; then permitted
her to go.
When the maid had departed, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth stood before the
little mirror on the hotel dressing-table. "Tricked, duped and fooled!"
she murmured.
Then, catching sight of the pearl and emerald pendant John had given
her, she snatched it violently from her breast and hurled it into the
hearth. It would have given her infinite pleasure at that moment to
have murdered John by slow and excruciating torture. Her thoughts were
still seething, when the dejected hotel waiter knocked at her door and
announced in plaintive tones that dinner awaited her.