Later that same evening Jack, who had walked down Fitzjohn's Avenue to
Mr Shearman's, as was his habit, found Elise's father at home.
Though old Dan Shearman, a hale, bluff North-country man, rather liked
young Sainsbury, yet, at heart, he would have preferred a man of
established prosperity as his daughter's husband--a manufacturer like
himself, or a professional man with a good paying practice. Dan
Shearman--as everybody called him in Birmingham--was a practical man,
and had made a fortune by dint of hard toil and strict economy. He had
begun as a half-timer in a cotton-mill in Oldham, and had risen, step by
step, until now he was one of the biggest private employers of labour in
the Midlands.
For years he had hoped that Elise would make a rich marriage, yet her
chance meeting with Jack Sainsbury had suddenly turned the course of
events, and both he and his wife could not hide from themselves how
deeply the young couple had fallen in love with one another. More than
once husband and wife had consulted as to whether it would not be to
Elise's future interest if they broke off the attachment. Indeed, just
before the outbreak of war, they had contemplated sending Elise for a
long stay with her aunt, who was married to an English merchant in
Palerno.
Yet, partly because the girl begged to remain in London, and partly
because of Mrs Shearman's liking for young Sainsbury, the bluff old
fellow gave way--though there always remained the fact that Jack was a
mere clerk and that, at the present time, he was out of a situation.
That he had been rejected by the military doctors Mr Shearman knew, but
he was unaware that Jack had been left a legacy by the doctor who had so
mysteriously committed suicide in Wimpole Street.
"Hey, lad!" old Dan cried cheerily, as Jack entered the little
smoking-room. "Sit yer down a moment, an' have a cigarette. There's
some over yonder!"
When the young man had lit up and seated himself, Shearman asked:
"Well! what's the pay-pers say to-night--eh? Aw wonder 'ow this 'ere
war is goin' on?"
"Badly, sir, I fear," was Sainsbury's prompt reply. "We don't seem to
be able to move against the superior power of the enemy."
"Superior power be 'anged, lad!" cried the round-faced, grey-haired old
man, his eyes flashing as he spoke. "Aw don't believe in what these
'ere writers talk about--their big guns, their superior power, an' all
that! We're still powerful enough in good old England to lick the 'ole
lot o' them sour-krowts, as I 'eard a man in New Street callin' 'em
yesterday."
"Well, I hope so," laughed Sainsbury, who really was anxious to get
upstairs to the drawing-room, where he knew Elise was eagerly awaiting
him. "But at present we seem to be progressing very slowly. The
Russian steam-roller, as it was called, has come to a halt."
"Ah! a bit more o' them there writers' bunkum! What aw say is that
we're a-bein' misled altogether. Nawbody tells the truth, and nawbody
writes it. What yer reads to-day, lad, 'll be flatly contradicted
to-morrow. So what's the use o' believin' anything?"
He was, truly, a bluff old chap who, born and bred in Lancashire, had
afterwards spent three parts of his life in and about Birmingham. Old
Dan Shearman was a man who always wanted hard facts, and when he got
them he would make use of them in business, as well as elsewhere, with
an acumen far greater than many men who had been educated at a public
school. He rather prided himself upon his national-school training, and
was fond of remarking, "Aw doan't pretend to much book-learnin', but aw
knows my trade, an aw knows 'ow to make money by it--which a lot o'
people doan't!"
Jack Sainsbury always found him amusing, for he was full of dry, witty
remarks; and as he sat for a quarter of an hour, or so, the old fellow,
puffing at his cigar--though he always smoked his pet pipe in his
private office at the works--made some very caustic remarks about
official red-tape at Whitehall.
"We're a-makin' munitions now," he explained. "But oh! the queries we
get, and the visits from officers in uniform--people who come and tell
me 'ow aw should run my business, yet the first time they've ever seen a
Drummond lathe is in one of my workshops. Aw say that 'arf of it's all
a mere wicked waste of a man's time!"
"Yes," sighed the young man--"I suppose there is far too much
officialism; and yet perhaps it is necessary." Then he added, "Is Elise
at home, do you know?"
"Yes, she's at 'ome, lad--she's at 'ome!" laughed the old fellow
cheerily. "Aw know you want to go oop to 'er. Well, aw did the same
when I wor your age. Aw won't keep yer longer. So go oop, lad, an' see
'er. My wife's out somewhere--gone to see one of 'er fine friends, I
expect."
Jack did not want further persuasion. Leaving the old man, he closed
the door, ran up the carpeted steps two at a time and, in a few moments,
held his well-beloved fondly in his arms.
She looked very pretty that night--a sweet, rather demure little figure
in a smart, but young-looking dinner-gown of pale cornflower-blue
crepe-de-chine, a dress which well became her, setting off her trim,
dainty figure to perfection, while the touch of velvet of the same shade
in her fair hair enhanced her beauty.
"Oh! I'm so glad you've come, dear!" cried the girl, as she looked
fondly into her lover's face with those clear, childlike eyes, which
held him always beneath their indescribable spell. And as he imprinted
soft kisses upon her lips, she added: "Do you know, Jack, I may be most
awfully silly--probably you'll say I am--but the truth is I have
suddenly been seized by grave apprehensions concerning you."
"Why, darling?" he asked quickly, still holding her in his strong arms.
"Well, I'll confess, however silly it may appear," said the girl. "All
day to-day I've felt ever so anxious about you. I know that, like poor
Dr Jerrold, you are trying to discover and punish the spies of Germany.
Now, those people know it. They are as unscrupulous as they are
vindictive, and I--well, I've been seriously wondering whether, knowing
that you are their enemy, they may not endeavour to do you some grave
harm."
"Harm!" laughed the young man. "Why, whatever makes you anticipate such
a thing, darling?"
"Well--I don't really know," was her reply. "Only to-day I've been
thinking so much about it all--about Dr Jerrold's strange death, and of
all you've lately told me--that I'm very apprehensive. Do take care of
yourself, Jack dear, won't you--for my sake?"
"Of course I will," he said, with a smile. "But what terrible fate do
you anticipate for me? You don't really think that the Germans will try
and murder me, do you?"
"Ah! You don't know what revenge they might not take upon you," the
girl said as they stood together near the fire in the big, handsome
room, his arm tenderly around her waist. "Remember that poor Dr
Jerrold upset a good many of their plans, and that you helped him."
"Well, and if I did, I don't really anticipate being assassinated," he
answered, quite calmly.
"But the doctor died. Why?" asked the girl. "Could his death have been
due to revenge, do you think?"
Jack Sainsbury was silent. It was not the first time that that vague
and terrible suggestion had crossed his mind, yet he had never uttered a
word to her regarding his suspicions.
"Jerome committed suicide," was his quiet, thoughtful reply.
"That's what the doctors said. But do you think he really did?" queried
the girl.
Jack shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply.
"Ah! I see! You yourself are not quite convinced!" she said, looking
him straight in the face.
"Well, Elise," he said after a brief silence, and with a forced laugh,
"I really don't think I should worry. I can surely take care of myself.
Perhaps you would like me to carry a revolver? I'll do so, if it will
content you."
"You can't be too careful, dear," she said earnestly, laying her slim
fingers upon his arm. "Remember that they are the spies of the most
barbarous race on earth and, in order to gain their ends, they'll stick
at nothing."
"Not even at killing your humble and most devoted servant--eh?" laughed
Jack. "Well, if it will relieve your mind I'll carry a pistol. I have
an automatic Browning at home--a bit rusty, I fear."
"Then carry it with you always, dear.--I--" But she hesitated in her
eagerness, and did not conclude her sentence.
In a second he realised that she had been on the point of speaking, of
telling him something. Yet she had broken off just in time. That fact
puzzled him considerably.
"Well," he asked, his serious gaze fixed upon those big blue eyes of his
well-beloved, while her fair head rested upon his shoulder: "what has
caused you these gloomy forebodings concerning myself, dearest? Tell
me."
"Oh, nothing," she replied in a strange, nervous voice. "I suppose that
I'm horribly silly, of course. But, knowing all that you have told me
about the wonderful spy-system of Germany, I have now become gravely
apprehensive regarding your safety."
Jack saw that she was endeavouring to conceal something. What knowledge
had she gained? In an instant he grew eagerly interested. Yet he did
not, at the moment, press her further.
"And you think that the fact of carrying a gun will be a protection to
me, do you, little one? Well, most women believe that. Yet, as a
matter of fact, firearms are very little protection. If a man is
seriously marked down by an enemy, a whole army of detectives cannot
save him. Think of the political assassinations, anarchist outrages,
and the like. Police protection has usually proved futile."
"But you can take proper ordinary precautions," she suggested.
"And pray, dear, why do you ask me to take precautions?" he inquired.
Then, looking earnestly into her eyes, he added very gravely:
"Something--or somebody--has put all these grim fears into your head.
Now, dearest, tell me the truth," he urged.
She made no response. Her eyes were downcast, and he saw that she
hesitated. For what reason?
"Whoever has put all these silly ideas into your head, darling, is
responsible to me!" he said in a hard voice.
"Well, Jack, I--I really can't help it. I--I love you, as you know; and
I can't bear to think that you are running into danger, as you
undoubtedly are."
He looked into her pretty face again.
"Now look here, darling," he went on: "aren't you getting just a little
too nervous about me? I quite admit that in these days of wars, of
terrible massacres, of barbarism and of outrages of which even African
savages would not be guilty, one is apt to become unduly nervous.
You've been reading the papers, perhaps. They don't always tell us the
truth nowadays, with the Censor trying to hide up everything."
"No, Jack," she said boldly. "I haven't been reading the papers. I'm
only anxious to save you."
"But how do you know that I'm in any danger?" he asked quickly. "Why be
anxious at all? I assure you that I'm perfectly safe. Nobody will lift
a finger against me. Why should they?"
"Ah! you don't see," she cried. "There is a motive--a hidden motive of
revenge. Your enemies intend to do you harm--grievous bodily harm. I
know that."
"How?" he asked quickly, fixing her splendid eyes with his.
That straight, bold question caused her to hesitate. She had intended
to prevaricate, that he knew. She did not wish to reveal the truth to
him, yet she feared lest he might be annoyed. Nevertheless, so serious
was he, so calm and utterly defiant in face of her grave warning, that a
second later she found herself wavering.
"Well," she replied, "I--I feel absolutely certain that it is intended
that some harm shall come to you."
"Then I'd better go to Scotland Yard and say that I'm threatened--eh?"
he laughed merrily. "And they will put on somebody to watch me, well
knowing that, if the whole of Scotland Yard--from the Assistant
Commissioner downwards--were put on to shadow me, the result would be
just the same. I should surely be killed, if my enemies had seriously
plotted my death."
"That's just my very argument," she said sagely, her pretty head
slightly inclined as she spoke. "I feel convinced that some evil is
intended."
"But why, darling?" he asked in surprise. "What causes you all these
silly notions?"
"Several things. Frankly, I don't believe that Dr Jerrold took his own
life. I believe that he was a victim of the dastardly spies of the
Great Assassin."
Jack said nothing. The mystery in Wimpole Street was great. Yet, how
could they dispute the medical evidence?
"That's another matter," he remarked. "How does that concern my
safety?"
"It does, very deeply. Your enemies know that you assisted Jerrold, and
I am firmly convinced that you are marked down in consequence."
"My darling!" he cried, drawing her closer to him. "You really make me
feel quite creepy all over!" and he laughed.
"Oh, I do wish, dear, you'd take this grave danger seriously!"
"But I don't. That's just it!" he answered. "I quite understand,
darling, that you may be anxious, but I really feel that your anxiety is
quite groundless and hence unnecessary."