Three weeks went past--dark, breathless weeks in England's history.
Jack Sainsbury, keeping the knowledge to himself, spent many deep and
thoughtful hours over his friend's tragic end. Several times he
suggested to Mr Trustram that, in order to clear up the mystery, the
sealed letter should be opened. But Trustram--having given his word of
honour to the dead man--argued, and quite rightly, that there was no
mystery regarding Jerrold's death. He had simply committed suicide.
Rodwell and Charles Trustram had, by this time, become very friendly.
The latter had been introduced to Sir Boyle Huntley, and the pair had
soon introduced the Admiralty official into a higher circle of society
than he had ever before attained. Indeed, within a few weeks Rodwell,
prime mover of several patriotic funds, had become Trustram's bosom
friend. So intimate did they become that they frequently played golf
together at Sunningdale, Berkhampstead or Walton Heath, on such
occasions when Trustram could snatch an hour or so of well-earned
recreation from the Admiralty; and further, on two occasions Sir Boyle
had given him very valuable financial tips--advice which had put into
his pocket a very considerable sum in hard cash.
Admiralty officials are not too well paid for their splendid and
untiring work, therefore to Charles Trustram this unexpected addition to
his income was truly welcome.
The establishment of Lady Betty Kenworthy's Anti-Teutonic Alliance had
caused a wave of indignant hatred of the German across the country, and
hence it was receiving universal support. It aimed at the internment of
all Germans, both naturalised and unnaturalised, at the drastic rooting
out of the German influence in our officialdom, and the ousting of all
persons who, in any sphere of life, might possess German connections by
blood or by marriage.
While Trustram was, of course, debarred, on account of his official
position, from open sympathy with the great movement, Lewin Rodwell and
Sir Boyle went up and down the country addressing great and enthusiastic
audiences and denouncing in violent terms the subtle influence of "the
enemy in our midst."
Jack Sainsbury watched all this in grim silence. What he had overheard
in the boardroom of the Ochrida Copper Corporation rang ever in his
ears.
More than once he had sat in Sir Houston Bird's quiet, sombre
consulting-room, and the pair had discussed the situation. Both agreed
that the clever masquerade being played by Rodwell and his baroneted
puppet was, though entertaining, yet a highly dangerous one. But
without being in possession of hard, indisputable facts, how could they
act? The British public had hailed Lewin Rodwell as a fine specimen of
the truly patriotic Englishman, little dreaming him to be a wolf in
sheep's-clothing. To all and every charitable appeal he subscribed
readily, and to his small, snug house in Bruton Street came many of the
highest in the land. Alas! that we always judge a man by his coat, his
cook, his smiles and his glib speeches. Put a dress-suit upon the
biggest scoundrel who ever stood in the dock at the Old Bailey--from
Smith who murdered his brides in baths downwards--and he would pass as
what the world calls "a gentleman."
One evening in December--the ninth, to be exact--there had been a big
dinner-party at Sir Boyle's, in Berkeley Square, and afterwards Trustram
had accompanied Rodwell home to Bruton Street in a taxi for a smoke.
As the pair--the spider and the fly--sat together before the fire in the
small, cosy room at the back of the house which the financier used as
his own den, their conversation turned upon a forthcoming meeting at the
Mansion House, which it was intended to hold in order to further arouse
the Home Office to a true sense of the danger of allowing alien enemies
to be at liberty.
"I intend to speak quite openly and plainly upon the subject," declared
Rodwell, leaning back in his chair and blowing a cloud of cigar-smoke
from his lips. "The time has now passed for polite speeches. If we are
to win this war we must no longer coddle the enemy with Donnington Hall
methods. The authorities know full well that there are hundreds of
spies among us to-day, and yet they deliberately close their eyes to
them. To me their motto seems, `Don't aggravate the Germans. They are
such dear good people.' The whole comedy would be intensely humorous--a
rollicking farce--if it were not so terribly pathetic. Therefore, at
the meeting, I intend to warn the Government that if some strong measure
is not adopted, and at once, the people themselves will rise and take
matters into their own hands. There'll be rioting soon, if something is
not done--that's my firm conviction," and in his dark eyes was a keen,
earnest look, as he waved his white hand emphatically. Truly, Lewin
Rodwell was a clever actor, and the line he had taken was, surely,
sufficiently bold to remove from him any suspicion of German birth, or
of double-dealing.
"Yes, I quite agree," declared Trustram enthusiastically. "We know well
enough at the Admiralty that the most confidential information leaks out
to the enemy almost daily, and--"
"And what can you expect, my dear fellow, when we have so many Germans
and naturalised Germans here in our midst?" cried Rodwell, interrupting.
"Intern the whole lot--that's my idea."
"With that I entirely agree," exclaimed Trustram, of course believing
fully in his friend's whole-hearted sincerity. "There are far too many
Germans in high places, and while they occupy them we shall never be
able to combat their craftiness--never!" Lewin Rodwell fixed his cold,
keen eyes upon the speaker, and smiled inwardly with satisfaction.
"My poor friend Dr Jerrold held exactly similar views," Trustram went
on. "Dear old Jerrold! He was ever active in hunting out spies. He
assisted our Secret Service in a variety of ways and, by dint of
diligent and patient inquiry, discovered many strange things."
"Did he ever really discover any spies?" asked Rodwell in a rather
languid voice.
"Yes, several. I happen to know one case--that of a man who collected
certain information. The documents were found on him, together with a
pocket-book which contained a number of names and addresses of German
secret agents in England." Rodwell instantly became interested.
"Did he? What became of the book? That surely ought to be most
valuable to the authorities--eh?"
"It has been, I believe. But, of course, all inquiries of that nature
are done by the War Office, so I only know the facts from Jerrold
himself. He devoted all the time he could snatch from his profession to
the study of spies, and to actual spy-hunting."
"And with good results--eh? Poor fellow! He was very alert. His was a
sad end. Suicide. I wonder why?" asked Rodwell.
"Who knows?" remarked the other, shrugging his shoulders. "We all of us
have our skeletons in our cupboards. Possibly his might have been
rather uglier than others?"
Rodwell remained thoughtful. Mention of that pocket-book, of which
Jerrold had obtained possession, caused him to ponder. That it was in
the hands of the Intelligence Department was the reverse of comforting.
He had known of the arrest of Otto Hartwig, alias Hart, who had, for
many years before the war, carried on business in Kensington, but this
was the first he had learnt that anything had been found upon the
prisoner.
He endeavoured to gain some further details from Trustram, but the
latter had but little knowledge.
"All I know," he said, "is that the case occupied poor Jerrold fully a
month of patient inquiry and watchful vigilance. At last his efforts
were rewarded, for he was enabled to follow the man down to Portsmouth,
and actually watch him making inquiries there--gathering facts which he
intended to transmit to the enemy."
"How?" asked Rodwell quickly.
"Ah! that's exactly what we don't know. That there exists a rapid mode
of transmitting secret intelligence across the North Sea is certain,"
replied the Admiralty official. "We've had illustrations of it, time
after time. Between ourselves, facts which I thought were only known to
myself--facts regarding the transport of troops across the Channel--have
actually been known in Berlin in a few hours after I have made the
necessary arrangements."
"Are you quite certain of that?" Rodwell asked, with sudden interest.
"Absolutely. It has been reported back to us by our friends in
Germany."
"Then we do have friends in Germany?" remarked Rodwell, with affected
ignorance.
"Oh, several," was the other's reply. Then, in confidence, he explained
how certain officers had volunteered to enter Germany, posing as
American citizens and travelling from America with American passports.
He mentioned two by name--Beeton and Fordyce.
The well-dressed man lolling in his chair, smoking as he listened, made
a mental note of those names, and grinned with satisfaction at
Trustram's indiscretions.
Yet, surely, the Admiralty official could not be blamed, for so
completely had Lewin Rodwell practised the deception that he believed
him to be a sterling Englishman, red-hot against the enemy and all his
knavish devices.
"I suppose you must be pretty busy at the Admiralty just now--eh? The
official account of the Battle of the Falklands in to-night's papers is
splendid reading. Sturdee gave Admiral von Spee a very nasty shock. I
suppose we shall hear of some other naval successes in the North Sea
soon--eh?"
Trustram hesitated for a few seconds. "Well, not just yet," was his
brief reply.
"Why do you say `not yet'?" he asked with a laugh. "Has the Admiralty
some thrilling surprise in store for us? Your people are always so
confoundedly mysterious."
"We have to be discreet," laughed Trustram. "In these days one never
knows who is friend or foe."
"Well, you know me well enough, Trustram, to be quite certain of my
discretion. I never tell a soul any official information which may come
to me--and I hear quite a lot from my Cabinet friends--as you may well
imagine."
"I do trust you, Mr Rodwell," his friend replied. "If I did not, I
should not have told you the many things I have regarding my own
department."
Lewin Rodwell smoked on, his legs crossed, his right hand behind his
head as he gazed at his friend.
"Well, you arouse my curiosity when you say that the Admiralty have in
store a surprise for us which we shall know later. Where is it to take
place?"
Again Charles Trustram hesitated. Then he answered, with some
reluctance:
"In the North Sea, I believe. A certain scheme has been arranged which
will, we hope, prove effectual."
"A trap, I suppose?"
Trustram laughed faintly.
"I didn't tell you so, remember," he said quickly.
"Ah, I see!--a trap to draw the German Fleet north--up towards Iceland.
Is my surmise correct?"
Trustram's smile was a silent affirmative. "This is indeed
interesting," Rodwell exclaimed. "I won't breathe a word to anyone.
When is it to be?"
"Within a week."
"You mean in a week. To-day is Wednesday--next Wednesday will be the
sixteenth."
Again Trustram smiled, as Rodwell, with his shrewd intelligence, divined
the truth.
"It's all arranged--eh? And orders have been sent out to the Fleet?"
asked the financier.
Again Trustram laughingly replied, "I didn't say so," but from his
friend's manner Lewin Rodwell knew that he had learnt the great and most
valuable secret of the true intentions of the British Navy.
It was not the first piece of valuable information which he had wormed
out of his official friends. So clever was he that he now pretended to
be highly eager and enthusiastic over the probable result of the
strategy.
"Let's hope Von Tirpitz will fall into the trap," he said. "Of course
it will have to be very cunningly baited, if you are to successfully
deceive him. He's already shown himself to be an artful old bird."
"Well--without giving anything away--I happen to know, from certain
information passing through my hands, that the bait will be sufficiently
tempting."
"So we may expect to hear of a big naval battle about the sixteenth. I
should say that it will, in all probability, be fought south of Iceland,
somewhere off the Shetlands."
"Well, that certainly is within the range of probability," was the
other's response. "All I can tell you--and in the very strictest
confidence, remember--is that the scheme is such a cleverly conceived
one that I do not believe it can possibly fail."
"And if it failed?"
"Well--if it failed," Trustram said, hesitating and speaking in a lower
tone--"if it failed, then no real harm would occur--only one thing
perhaps: that the East Coast of England might be left practically
unguarded for perhaps twelve hours or so. That's all."
"Well, that would not matter very much, so long as the enemy obtains no
knowledge of the British Admiral's intentions," remarked Lewin Rodwell,
contemplating the end of his cigar and reflecting for a few seconds.
Then he blurted out:
"Gad! that's jolly interesting. I shall wait for next Wednesday with
all eagerness."
"You won't breathe a word, will you? Remember, it was you who obtained
the information by suggestion," Trustram said, with a good-humoured
laugh.
"Can't you really rely on me, my dear fellow, when I give you my word of
honour as an Englishman to say nothing?" he asked. "I expect I am often
in the know in secrets of the Cabinet, and I am trusted."
"Very well," replied his friend. "I accept your promise. Not a word
must leak out. If it did, then all our plans would be upset, and
possibly it would mean the loss of one, or more, of our ships. But you,
of course, realise the full seriousness of it all."
"I do, my dear Trustram--I do," was the reassuring answer. "No single
whisper of it shall pass my lips. That, I most faithfully promise you."