Just as it was growing dusk on the following evening, a handsome
middle-aged woman, exquisitely dressed in the latest _mode_, and
carrying a big gold chain-purse, attached to which was a quantity of
jangling paraphernalia in the shape of cigarette-case, puff-box, and
other articles, was lolling in, a big armchair in Lewin Rodwell's little
study in Bruton Street.
From her easy attitude, and the fact that she had taken off her fur coat
and was in the full enjoyment of a cigarette with her well-shod feet
upon the fender, it was quite apparent that she was no stranger there.
"It certainly was the only thing to be done in the circumstances, I
quite agree," she was saying to Rodwell, who was seated opposite her, on
the other side of the fire.
"How did he look at Bow Street this, morning? Tell me!" Rodwell asked
her eagerly.
"Pale and worried," was the woman's reply. "The case was heard in the
extradition court, and there were very few people there. The girl was
there, of course. A young barrister named Charles Pelham appeared for
him, and reserved his defence. The whole proceedings did not occupy
five minutes--just the evidence of arrest, and then the magistrate
remanded him for a week."
"So I heard over the 'phone."
"I thought perhaps you would be called," the woman remarked.
"My dear Molly," laughed the man grimly, "I'm not going to be called as
witness. I've taken very good care of that! I haven't any desire to go
into the box, I can assure you."
"I suppose not," laughed the woman. "The prisoner must never know that
you've had a hand in the affair."
She was a well-built, striking-looking woman, with a pair of fine dark
eyes sparkling from beneath a black hat, the daring shape of which was
most becoming to her. Upon her white hand jewels gleamed in the fitful
firelight, for the lights were not switched on, and in her low-cut
blouse of cream crepe-de-chine she wore a small circle of diamonds as a
brooch.
"It's a good job for us all that you've closed the young man's mouth
just in time," she declared. "He knew something, that is evident."
"And he kept it to himself, intending one day to launch it as a
thunderbolt," Rodwell remarked. "But you've been infernally clever over
the affair, Molly. Without you, I don't know what I should have done in
this case. There was a distinct danger."
"It wasn't very difficult, after all," his companion replied. "Money
does wonders--especially the good money of Germany. Here in England
`Number Seventy' happily has much good money, and has a `good press.'"
"Yes," laughed Rodwell. "And yet the fools here think they will win!"
"My dear Lewin, they would win if they were not so hopelessly
egotistical, and if we had not long foreseen the coming conflict and
Germanised the British political and official life as our first
precaution. In consequence, our victory is assured. Already this
country is in the grip of our German financiers, our pro-German
politicians, labour-leaders, and officials of every class. Our good
German money has not been ill-spent, I can assure you!" she laughed.
"I quite agree. But tell me how you really managed to engineer that
evidence," he asked, much interested.
"Well, after you had given me the correspondence four days ago, I took a
taxi and went down to the City to see my old friend George
Charlesworth," was her reply. "He and I used to be quite old chums a
year ago, when, as you know, he fell into the trap over that other
little matter, and became so useful, though he still remains in entire
ignorance."
"Ah! of course, you know the arrangements of the office. I quite forgot
that."
"Yes. I arrived about five o'clock, just as the old boy was leaving,
and sat in his room while he finished signing his letters. Already most
of the clerks had gone. When he had finished, and all the staff had
left, I lit up a cigarette and begged to be allowed to finish it before
we went out, I having suggested that he should take me to dinner that
night at the Carlton. Suddenly I pretended to grow faint, and asked him
to get me some brandy. In alarm the dear old fellow jumped up quickly,
and ran out to an hotel for some, leaving me in the office alone. Then,
when he'd gone, it didn't take me long to hurry out into the clerks'
office and put the papers in between the leaves of that big green ledger
which I found in the desk at which young Sainsbury had worked--just as
you had described where it would be found."
"Excellent! You are always very 'cute, Molly," he laughed. "I suppose
you quickly recovered when Charlesworth got back with the brandy--eh?"
"Well, I didn't recover too quickly, or the old bird might have grown
suspicious," was her reply.
Mariechen Pagenkoff, known as Mrs Molly Kirby, was a native of Coblenz,
but had been educated in England, and had lived here the greater part of
her life until she had lost all trace of her foreign birth. Her husband
had been a German shipping-agent in Glasgow, and at the same time a
secret agent of the Koeniger-gratzerstrasse. But he had died two years
before, leaving her a widow. Her profession of spy had brought her into
contact with Lewin Rodwell, and ever since the outbreak of war the pair
had acted in conjunction with each other in collecting and transmitting
information through the various secret channels open between London and
Berlin, and in carrying out many coups of espionage. Mrs Kirby lived
very comfortably--as the widow of a rather wealthy shipping-agent might
live--in a pretty flat in Cadogan Gardens, and to those around her she
was believed to be, like Lewin Rodwell, most patriotic and charitable.
Indeed, she had done much voluntary work for the charitable funds, and
had interested herself in the relief of Belgian refugees, and in the
work of the Red Cross.
"The day after you had been to the office," Rodwell explained, "I went
down there upon one or two matters which required attention, and, after
a couple of hours, I told Charlesworth that I wanted to glance at a
certain ledger to verify a query. The book was brought, and as I
carelessly searched through it in Charlesworth's presence, I discovered
some documents. We opened them, when, to our great surprise, we found
letters in German, there being enclosed in one a ten-pound note."
"What did old Charlesworth say?" asked Mrs Kirby, with a smile upon her
red lips.
"Well, as he can read German, I allowed him to digest the letters. The
old man was dumbfounded, and exclaimed: `Why, young Sainsbury kept this
book! Look at this letter! It's addressed to "Dear Jack"! Is it
possible, do you think, that Sainsbury was a German spy?'"
"What did you say?"
"I expressed the gravest surprise and concern, of course, and suggested
that he, as manager, should take the documents to Scotland Yard and make
a statement as to how they had been discovered. He wanted me to go with
him, but I declined, saying that in my position I had no desire to be
mixed up with any such unpleasant affair, and that he, as
managing-director of the Ochrida Corporation, was the proper person to
lodge information. The old fellow grew quite excited over it. He had
several of the clerks up, and from them ascertained that the ledger in
question had not been used since Sainsbury left. This, in conjunction
with the fact that one of the letters was addressed to `Jack,' and in it
a mention of meeting at Heath Street, proved most conclusively that the
incriminating documents belonged to Sainsbury. Therefore, an hour
later, after I had instructed Charlesworth what to tell them at Scotland
Yard, I had the satisfaction of seeing him enter a taxi with the
documents in his pocket. I continued to do some work in the office
when, later on, as I expected, he returned with a detective who
inspected the book, the desk in which it was kept, and who listened to
the story of young Sainsbury's career."
"And I suppose you gave the young man a very good character--eh?" asked
the woman who had led such an adventurous life.
"Oh, excellent!" was Rodwell's grim reply. "The officer went away quite
convinced that Sainsbury was a spy."
"Though you gave me the letters, I quite forgot to read them," said the
woman. "Of what character were they? Pretty damning, I suppose?"
"Damning--I should rather think they were!" answered the man who posed
as the great British patriot, and hid his real profession beneath the
cloak of finance and platform-speaking. "Two of them were letters which
our friend Wentzel, at Aldershot, had received from the Insurance
Company at Amsterdam--you know the little institution I mean, in the
Kalverstraat. Wentzel is known as `Jack,' and in one of these he is
addressed as such. So it came in very useful. The letter enclosed a
Bank of England note for ten pounds."
"The monthly payment of his little annuity--eh?" laughed the woman. "I
understand. I had a letter only this morning from the same Insurance
Company."
"Well," laughed the man, "we all have dealings with the same office. I
have had many. The organisation there is perfect--not a soul in the
Censor's department suspects. Truly, one must admire such perfect
organisation as that established by `Number Seventy.'"
"I do. My husband always declared the arrangements in Holland to be
perfect--and they are perfect, even to-day, while we are at war in
England--the great Ruler of the Seas, as she calls herself, has already
fallen from her height. Britannia's trident is broken; her rulers know,
and quite appreciate the fact. That is why they establish a censorship
in order to keep the truth regarding our submarines from what they term
the man-in-the-street. As soon as he knows the truth--if he ever will--
then Heaven help Great Britain!"
"Meanwhile we are all working towards one end, my dear Molly--victory
for our Fatherland!"
"Certainly. We shall conquer. The great Russian steam-roller--as the
English journalists once called it--is already rusty at its joints. The
rust has eaten into it, and soon its engineers will fail to make it
move--except in its reverse-gear," and the woman laughed. "But tell
me," she added: "of what does the evidence against Sainsbury exactly
consist?"
Lewin Rodwell reflected seriously for a few moments. Then he slowly
replied:
"Well, there are several things--things which he will have great
difficulty in explaining away. I've taken good care of that. First,
there is the letter from the Dutch Insurance Company sending him a
ten-pound note. Secondly, there is a letter from a certain Carl
Stefansen, living at Waxholm, on the Baltic, not far from Stockholm,
asking for details regarding the movements of certain regiments of
Kitchener's Army, and thanking him for previous reports regarding the
camps at Watford, Bramshott and elsewhere. Thirdly, there is an
acknowledgment of a report sent to a lock-box address in Sayville, in
the United States, on the second of last month, and promising to send,
by next post, a remittance of five pounds in payment for it. A letter
from Halifax, Nova Scotia, also requests certain information as to
whether the line of forts from Guildford to Redhill--part of the
ring-defences of London--are yet occupied."
"Forts? What do you mean?"
"Those forts established years ago along the Surrey hills as part of the
scheme for the defence of the Metropolis, but never manned or equipped
with guns. They cost very many thousands to construct--but were never
fully equipped."
"And they are still in existence?"
"Certainly. And they could be occupied, and turned to valuable account,
at any moment."
"A fact which I can see they fully appreciated at Whitehall, and which
will lend much colour to the charge against this inquisitive young
fellow--who--well--who knows just a little too much. Ah! my dear Lewin,
I never met a man quite like you. You can see through a brick wall."
"No further than you can see, my dear Molly," laughed the crafty man.
"We were both of us trained in the same excellent school--that school
which is the eyes and ears of the great and invincible Imperial Army of
the Fatherland. Where would be that army, with our Kaiser at its head,
if it had no eyes and no ears? Every report we send to Berlin is noted;
every report, however small and vague, is one step towards our great
goal and final victory. The Allies may beat themselves against our
steel and concrete ring, but they will never win. We sit tight. Our
men sit in their comfortable dug-outs to wait--and to wait on until the
Allies beat themselves out in sheer exhaustion. Our great invincible
nation must win in this island, for one reason--because the German eagle
has already gripped in her talons the very official heart of Great
Britain herself. Our Kaiser Wilhelm is only William of Normandy over
again. In Berlin we hold no apprehensions. We know we must win. If
not to-day--well, we sit safe in our trenches in Flanders, or give the
gallant Russians a run just to exercise them--knowing well that victory
must be ours when we will it!"
"Then, the correspondence found in Sainsbury's ledger is entirely
conclusive, you think?" asked his companion after a pause.
"Absolutely. There is no question. The letter shows him guilty of
espionage."
"They were actual letters, then?"
"Certainly. One of them was in an envelope addressed to him at the
office, and posted at Norwich. I managed to find that envelope in his
desk on the day before he was discharged. It came in extremely useful,
as I expected it might."
"So the charge against him cannot fail?" asked the handsome woman,
puffing slowly at her cigarette. "Remember, he may suspect you--knowing
all that he does!"
"Bah! The charge cannot fail. Of course I've had nothing to do with
the matter as far as the authorities are concerned. I have simply
slipped the noose over his head, and shall let the Intelligence
Department do the rest. They will do their work well--never fear."
"But you told the Intelligence Department about that Dr Jerrold?"
"Boyle did. I was most careful to keep out of it," replied Rodwell,
with a cunning look. "Boyle happens to be a friend of Heaton-Smith, who
is in the Intelligence Department, and to him he gave information which
cast a very deep suspicion that while Jerrold was pretending to hunt out
spies, he was also engaged in collecting information. Indeed, we sent
our friend Klost to consult him as a patient in order to further colour
the idea that, in the doctor's consulting-room, he was receiving German
spies. Heaton-Smith, who has a perfect mania regarding espionage, took
it up at once, and had Jerome watched, while we on our part,
manufactured just a little thread of evidence, as we have done in the
present case. By it we succeeded in a warrant being issued for his
arrest. It would have been executed that night if--well, if he had not
committed suicide."
"Perhaps he knew a warrant was out against him?"
"I think he did," said Rodwell, with an evil smile.
"What causes you to think so?"
"Well, by the fact that Boyle, to whom he was unknown, rang him up that
evening at half-past seven and, posing as an anonymous friend, warned
him that there was a warrant out for him and that, as a friend, he gave
him an opportunity to escape."
"What did he reply to Sir Boyle?"
"He hardly replied anything, except to thank the speaker for his timely
information, and to ask who it was who spoke. Boyle pretended to be a
certain Mr Long, speaking from the National Liberal Club, and added,
`If you wish to write to me, my name is J.S. Long.' The doctor said he
would write, but could not understand the charge against him. Boyle
replied that it was one of war-treason, and added that the authorities
had got hold of some documents or other which incriminated him on a
charge of spying."
"What did he say?"
"Well, he declared that it was an infernal lie, of course," laughed
Rodwell.
The woman was again silent for a few moments.
"Its truth was plainly shown by his suicide," she remarked at last. "By
Jove, my dear Lewin, his death was most fortunate for you--wasn't it?"
"Yes. We had to play a trump card then--just as we now have to play
another against young Sainsbury," replied the man, his eyes narrowing.
"I must congratulate you both," said Mrs Kirby. "You've played your
cards well--if you're certain that he'll be convicted."
"My dear Molly, they can't help convicting him. The acknowledgment and
payment for reports, the request for more information, and the vague
references to certain matters in which our friends in Holland are so
keenly interested, all are there--addressed to him. Besides, he is
known to have been an intimate friend and assistant of the man Jerrold--
the man who committed suicide rather than face arrest and trial for
treason. No," Rodwell added confidently; "the whole affair is quite
plain, and conviction must most certainly follow."
"And serve him well right!" added the handsome woman. "Serve him right
for being too inquisitive. But," she added in a rather apprehensive
voice, "I suppose there's no chance of him making any allegations
against you--is there?"
"What do I care if he did!" asked the man, with a laugh of defiance.
Then, lowering his voice, he added: "First, there is no evidence
whatsoever to connect me with any matters of espionage, and secondly,
nobody would believe a word he said. The world would never credit that
Lewin Rodwell was a spy!"
"No," she laughed; "you are far too clever and cunning for them all.
Really your _sang-froid_ is truly marvellous."