On the same afternoon that Lewin Rodwell was stretching himself,
impatient and somewhat nervous, in the lonely little house on the beach,
Elise Shearman, pale and apprehensive, was seated in Sir Houston Bird's
consulting-room in Cavendish Square.
The spruce, young-looking pathologist, clean-shaven and grave, with hair
streaked with grey, was listening intently to the girl's words. It was
her second visit to him that day. In his waiting-room were half a dozen
persons who had come to consult him, but the blue-eyed young lady had
been ushered straight into the sanctum of the great Home Office expert.
"Curious! Very curious!" he remarked as he listened to her. "That
anonymous letter you brought this morning I have already taken to
Whitehall. The whole affair seems a complete mystery, Miss Shearman.
No doubt the charge against young Sainsbury is a very serious one, but
that you should have been given warning is most strange. Since I saw
you this morning I've had a visit from Mr Trustram, whom I called up on
the 'phone, and we have had a long consultation."
"What is your opinion?" she asked breathlessly.
"Will you forgive me, Miss Shearman if, for the present, I refrain from
answering that question?" asked the great doctor, with a smile. He was
sitting at his table with one elbow resting upon it and half turned
towards her, as was his habit when diagnosing a case. The room was
small, old-fashioned, and depressingly sombre in the gloom of the wintry
afternoon.
"But do you think Jack will ever clear himself of these horrible
charges?" she asked, pale and anxious.
"I hope so. But at present I can give no definite opinion."
"But if he can't, he'll go to penal servitude!" cried the girl. "Ah!
how I have suffered since his arrest! Father will hear no word in his
favour. He daily tells me that Jack is a spy of Germany, and as such
deserves full punishment."
"Mr Trustram has found out from the War Office that his trial by
court-martial begins at the Old Bailey to-morrow."
"Yes, I know. Mr Pelham, his counsel, called on me just after lunch,
and told me so," said the girl tearfully. "But oh! he seemed so
hopeless of the result. The prosecution, he said, would bring forward
the most damning evidence against him. Can it be true, Sir Houston? Do
you really think it is true?"
"No, I don't," was the prompt, straightforward answer. "Nothing will
ever cause me to suspect Sainsbury to be guilty of espionage. He's far
too good an Englishman to accept German gold."
"Then you believe him to be innocent!" cried the girl, her fair
countenance brightening with a ray of hope.
"Yes, I do. He's the victim of some dastardly plot. That's my firm
belief. And yet it is so strange that his friend Jerrold committed
suicide."
"But was Dr Jerrold a spy? That is the question!"
"It seems quite true that a warrant had been issued for his arrest upon
a charge of war-treason," Sir Houston replied. "Why didn't he try and
face it?"
The girl, pale and agitated, sat in silence, her gloved hands lying idly
on her lap before her. Those awful weeks of anxiety had left traces
upon her face, now thin and worn. And she felt that her lover's fate
was sealed unless he could clear himself. In desperation she had sought
the great doctor, and he had been most thoughtful and sympathetic.
"I think," he went on in a kindly voice, "I think it would be best, Miss
Shearman, if you went home, and remained there in patience. You know
that Mr Pelham is a sharp lawyer, and, being quite alive to the
seriousness of the situation, he will do his very utmost for his client.
Go quietly home, and await the result of our combined efforts," he
urged sympathetically. "I am meeting Mr Trustram again at five
o'clock. Believe me, Mr Trustram is not inactive, while I, too, am
doing my level best in your lover's interests."
"Oh! thank you," cried the girl, tears standing in her fine blue eyes.
"You are both so good! I--I don't know how to thank you both," and,
unable to further restrain her emotion, she suddenly burst into tears.
Quickly he rose and, placing his hand tenderly upon her shoulder, he
uttered kind and sympathetic words, by which she was at length calmed;
and presently she rose and left the room, Sir Houston promising to
report to her on the morrow.
"Now, don't alarm yourself unduly," was his parting injunction. "Just
remain quite calm and patient, for I assure you that all that can be
done will be done, and is, indeed, being done."
And then, when the door had closed, the great pathologist drew his hand
wearily across his white brow, sighed, buttoned his perfectly-fitting
morning-coat, glanced at himself in the glass to see that his hair was
unruffled--for he was a bit of a dandy--and then pressed the bell for
his next patient.
Meanwhile, Charles Trustram was working in his big airy private room at
the Admiralty. Many men in naval uniform were ever coming and going,
for his room was always the scene of great, but quiet, orderly activity.
At his big table he was examining documents, signing some, dictating
letters to his secretary, and discussing matters put forward by the
officials who brought him papers to read and initial.
Presently there entered a lieutenant with a pale yellow naval
signal-form, upon which was written a long message from the wireless
department.
Those long, spidery aerial wires suspended between the domes at the
Admiralty, had caught and intercepted a German message sent out from
Norddeich, the big German station at the mouth of the Elbe, to Pola, on
the Adriatic. It had been in code, of course, but in the department it
had been de-coded; and the enemy's message, as the officer placed it
before him, was a truly illuminating one.
"I think this is what you wanted," said the lieutenant, as he placed the
paper before him. "It came in an hour ago, but they've found great
difficulty in decoding it. That is what you meant--is it not?"
"Good Heavens! Yes!" cried Trustram, starting to his feet. "Why, here
the information has been sent to Austria for re-transmission to the
German submarines--the exact information I gave of transports leaving
for the Dardanelles! The _Ellenborough_ and _Desborough_ are not
mentioned. That shows the extent of their intimate knowledge of the
movements of our ships. But you see," he went on, pointing to the
message, "the _Cardigan_, _Leatherhead_ and _Turleigh_ are all mentioned
as having left Southampton escorted to Gibraltar, and not beyond, and
further, that in future all drafts will embark at Plymouth--just the
very information that I gave!"
"Yes; I quite see. There must be somewhere a very rapid and secret
channel for the transit of information to Germany."
"Yes, and we have to find that out, without further delay," Trustram
replied. "But," he added, "this has fixed the responsibility
undoubtedly. Is Captain Weardale in his room?"
"He was, when I came along to you."
Trustram thanked him, and, a few moments later, was walking down one of
the long corridors in the new building of the Admiralty overlooking St
James's Park, bearing the deciphered dispatch from the enemy in his
hand.
"The artful skunk!" he muttered to himself. "Who would have credited
such a thing! But it's that confounded woman, I suppose--the woman of
whom poor Jerrold entertained such grave suspicions. What is the secret
of it all, I wonder? I'll find out--if it costs me my life! How
fortunate that I should have suspected, and been able to test the
leakage of information, as I have done!"
Just before midnight a rather hollow-eyed, well-dressed young man was
seated in Mrs Kirby's pretty little drawing-room in Cadogan Gardens.
The dark plush curtains were drawn, and against them the big bowl of
daffodils stood out in all their artistic beauty beneath the
electric-light. His hostess was elaborately dressed, as was her wont,
yet with a quiet, subdued taste which gave her an almost aristocratic
air. She posed as a giddy bridge-player, a theatre and night-club goer;
a woman who smoked, who was careless of what people thought, and who
took drugs secretly. That, however, was only her mask. Really she was
a most careful, abstemious, level-headed woman, whose eye was always
directed towards the main chance of obtaining information which might be
of use to her friend Lewin Rodwell, and his masters abroad.
Both were German-born. The trail of the Hun was over them--that Teuton
taint of a hopeful world-power which, being inborn, could never be
eradicated.
"Well?" she was asking, as she lolled artistically in the silk-covered
easy chair in her pretty room, upholstered in carnation pink. "So you
can't see him till to-morrow? That's horribly unfortunate. I'm very
disappointed," she added pettishly.
"No," replied the young man, who, fair-haired and square-jawed, was of
distinctly German type. "I'm sorry. I tried my best, but I failed."
"H'm. I thought you were clever enough, Carl. But it seems that you
failed," and she sighed wearily.
"You know, Molly, I'd do anything for you," replied the young fellow,
who was evidently of quite superior class, for he wore his well-cut
evening coat and soft-fronted dress-shirt with the ease of one
accustomed to such things. And, if the truth were told, he would have
been recognised by any of the clerks in the bureau of the Savoy Hotel as
one of their most regular customers at dinner or supper.
"I know that, Carl," replied the handsome woman impatiently. "But, you
see, I had made all my arrangements. The information is wanted hourly
in Berlin. It is most urgent."
"Well, they'll have to wait, my dear Molly. If I can't get it till
to-morrow--I can't."
"Why not?"
"Oh, what's the good of explaining? Heinrich has gone off down to
Brighton with a little friend of his--that's all. He's motored her down
to the Metropole, and won't be back till to-morrow. How, in Heaven's
name, can I help it?"
"I don't suppose you can, my dear boy," laughed the big, overbearing
woman, who held the son of the "naturalised" German financier in the
grip of her white, bejewelled fingers. "But, all the same, we have both
to remember our duty to the Fatherland. We are at war."
"True! And haven't I helped the Fatherland? Was it not from
information given by me that you knew the truth of the blowing up of the
battleship _Bulwark_ off Sheerness, and of the loss of the _Formidable_
on New Year's day? Have I and my friends in Jermyn Street been
inactive?"
"No, you haven't. Our dear Fatherland owes you and your friends a deep
debt of gratitude. But--Well, I tell you, I'm annoyed because my plans
have been upset by your failure to-day."
"Rodwell's plans, you mean! Not yours!" cried the young fellow, his
jealousy apparent.
"No, not at all. I don't see why you should so constantly refer to Mr
Rodwell. He is our superior, as you know, and in its wisdom Number
Seventy has placed him in supreme command."
"Then why do you complain of my failure?" protested the young man
viciously, placing his cigarette-end in the silver ash-tray.
"I don't. I only tell you that it has upset my personal plans. I had
hoped to get away down to Torquay to-morrow. I must have a change. I'm
run down."
"One day does not matter, surely, when our national interests are at
stake!"
"Of course not, silly boy," laughed the woman. She saw that she was not
treating him with tact, and knew his exact value. "Don't let us discuss
it any further. See what you can do to-morrow."
"I'll compel Heinrich to get at what we want," cried Carl Berenstein--
whose father had, since the war, changed his name, with the consent of
the Home Office, of course, to Burton. "I'm as savage as you are that
he should prefer to motor a girl to Brighton. But what can I do?"
"Nothing, my dear boy. The girl will always win. When you've lived as
long as I have, you will understand."
"Then you don't blame me--do you?" asked the young man, eagerly.
"Why, of course, not at all, my dear Carl. Heinrich's a fool to be
attracted by any petticoat. There are always so many better."
"As long as you don't blame me, Molly, I don't care. The guv'nor is as
wild as I am about it."
"Oh, never mind. Get hold of him when he comes back, and come here as
soon as possible and tell me. Remember that Number Seventy is thirsting
for information."
"Yes, I will. Rely on me. We are good Germans, all of us. These silly
swelled-headed fools of English are only playing into our hands. They
have no idea of what they will have to face later on. _Ach_! I only
wish I were back again in the dear Rhineland with my friends, who are
now officers serving at the front. But this British bubble cannot last.
It must soon be pricked. And its result must be disastrous."
"We hope so. We can't tell. But, there, don't let us discuss it. We
are out to win the war. This matter I leave to you, good Germans that
you and Heinrich are, to make your report."
"Good. I will be here to-morrow evening, when I hope I shall have
everything quite clear and precise. There is to be a big movement of
troops to France the day after to-morrow, and I hope to give you a list
of the names of all the regiments, with their destinations. You know, I
suppose, that three parts of the cartridges they are making at the G--
factory will, in a month's time, when they get to the front, be
useless?"
"So Mr Rodwell told me, a couple of days ago. Herzfelder is evidently
doing good work there; but it is not a matter even to whisper about. It
might leak out, and tests might be made."
Then, having drained off the whisky-and-soda which his hostess had
poured out for him, he rose, shook her hand warmly, saying, "I'll be
here as early as possible to-morrow night. Good-bye, Molly," and strode
out.
And the maid showed the young man to the door of the flat, while Mrs
Kirby cast herself into a low lounge-chair before the fire, lit a
cigarette, and, with her eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the flames, smoked
furiously.