Again the grey dawn was breaking over the chill North Sea--a wild,
tempestuous morning.
On the far horizon northward, a steamer had just appeared, leaving
behind a long trail of black smoke, but over the great expanse of
storm-tossed waters which broke heavily upon the beach there was no sign
of any other craft.
Thirty-six hours had passed since the young German who called himself
Burton, but whose real name was Berenstein, had sat in Mrs Kirby's
drawing-room discussing the faulty ammunition being made at the works at
G--. Twelve hours before, namely, at six o'clock on the previous
evening, the court-martial sitting at the Old Bailey had concluded the
hearing of the grave case of espionage brought against young Sainsbury.
The evidence--some of the most damning evidence ever brought before a
court-martial--had been given, and Mr Pelham his counsel had made his
speech for the defence. Sentence had been postponed, in order that the
whole of the facts should be considered by the military authorities.
The trial having taken place _in camera_, not a word had leaked out to
the newspapers, therefore the public were in ignorance of the young
man's arrest, still more so of the grave offence with which he had been
charged.
Elise knew what had happened. She had sat outside the court, in the big
stone hall upstairs, where a kindly usher had given her a brief resume
of the proceedings. Indeed, through the glass door she had been able to
get a momentary peep of her lover as he had stood in the dock, pale and
erect, defiant of his accusers.
When the court rose, she had returned to Fitzjohn's Avenue in a taxicab,
sobbing and broken-hearted.
On arriving home she had rung up Sir Houston Bird on the telephone, but
his man had answered saying that he had been called out suddenly, and
had not returned. Therefore she went to her room and there gave way to
a paroxysm of grief. It was over. _Jack had been found guilty_!
In the grey light of dawn, Lewin Rodwell was seated in the stuffy,
little room in Tom Small's cottage, his hand upon the telegraph-key,
clicking out rapidly a message to Berlin.
At his side sat his accomplice, Mrs Kirby, in a heavy fur motor-coat
with toque to match, for she had been all night on the road with Penney,
who, having dropped her quite near, had turned the car and gone back
into Horncastle to wait until the following evening.
The woman had been engaged writing, by the light of the petrol lamp, a
long message since her arrival an hour before, while it was still dark;
and it was this--a detailed report of the movements of troops to the
front in Flanders, which young Burton had obtained for her--that Rodwell
was engaged in transmitting.
Without speaking the spy sat, his left elbow upon the table, with his
brow upon his palm while, with his right hand, he tapped away quickly
with the rapid touch of the expert telegraphist.
"What a wretched little place!" the woman remarked at last, gazing
around the narrow little bedroom. "How horribly close and stuffy!"
"Yes, and you'd find it so, if you'd been here a prisoner for three days
and nights, as I have, Molly," her companion laughed, still continuing
to transmit the information for which Number Seventy had asked so
constantly. The German General Staff were anxious to ascertain what
strength of reinforcements we were sending to our line near Ypres.
Suddenly Rodwell shouted for Ted; but the woman, passing into the
living-room, calling for young Small, and receiving no reply, remarked:
"I believe they both went out down on the beach, to the boat, a moment
ago. Do you want him?"
"Only to tell him to get some breakfast. You must be fagged out after
your journey," he said, still working the cable without a pause. "How
cold and draughty this house is!" he said. "I shall be glad when night
comes again, and we can get away. I mean to give this place a rest for
a month. I'm afraid it's getting just a bit unhealthy for me. Come in,
and shut the door, Molly. I'm nearly blown out, with that door open,"
he complained.
Then, after she had re-entered the room and closed the door, he soon
gave the signal "end of message," and paused for the acknowledgment.
It came without delay. A few rapid clicks, and then all was still
again--a silence save for the howl of the wind and the monotonous roar
of the great breakers rolling in upon the beach outside.
"Well, Molly," the man said, as he lit a cigarette, and seated himself
on the edge of the little old-fashioned bed, "we'll have to stay in
here, I suppose, till it's dark. Small doesn't like it known that he
has visitors. What time did you order Penney?"
"I told him to be at the place where he usually drops you at eight
o'clock."
"Excellent. I wonder where Ted is? I want my breakfast badly."
"He said something about going down to the boat to get some fish for
you."
"Ah! of course. They went out in the night. I forgot," he said.