"Is there no possibility of getting away from here before night? I
don't like the black looks which Small and his son gave me, Lewin."
"Black looks! Oh, that's nothing. I'm always putting the screw on
them. Besides, Ted got to know from Stendel--who chatted to him over
the wire one day--all about the Scarborough raid. So, naturally, he's
antagonistic."
"But he might betray us, you know."
"He'll never do that, depend upon it. He knows that his own neck would
be in danger if he did so. So rest quite assured about that." Then,
after a few moments' silence, he added: "I wonder when we shall get that
young Sainsbury out of the way. He's the greatest source of danger that
we have."
"I thought your idea was that nobody would believe him, whatever he
alleged against you?" asked the woman.
"That's so. But we have now to count with Trustram. If he wilfully
deceived me regarding those two transports leaving Plymouth, then he
certainly suspects. And if he suspects, his suspicions may lead him in
the direction of Sainsbury--see?"
"Yes. I quite see. You scent a further danger!"
"No, not exactly," was his vague reply, an evil smile upon his lips.
"With the exercise of due precaution we need have nothing to fear--as
long as Sainsbury's mouth is closed by the law--as it must be in a day
or two."
"But you don't mean to come down here again for some time, do you?"
"No. For the next week or two we must trust to other channels of
transmission--Schuette's wireless at Sydenham, perhaps, though that's
far from satisfactory."
"Hark!" exclaimed the woman, as they heard someone at the outer door.
Both listened. There was a grating sound like that of a key--as though
the door was being unlocked.
This surprised them, and they exchanged inquiring glances.
There was a sound of heavy footsteps, causing them both to hold their
breath.
Next instant the door of the bedroom was unceremoniously flung open,
revealing upon the threshold two burly men in hard felt hats and
overcoats presenting service revolvers at them.
It was a striking scene.
The woman screamed loudly, but the man, who had sprung to his feet to
find himself thus cornered, stood firm, his face blanched, and his
eyebrows contracted.
"And pray what's the meaning of all this?" he demanded, in hoarse
defiance.
A second later, however, he saw that behind the two men who entered the
room to place himself and his companion under arrest, were three other
persons. One was a naval officer in uniform, evidently from the
Admiralty Intelligence Department, while the other two were men
well-known to him--namely, Sir Houston Bird and Charles Trustram.
"Your clever game is up, Mr Rodwell!" exclaimed Trustram, entering the
room with the naval captain, whose gaze fell at once upon the telegraph
instruments mounted on the old sewing-machine in the corner.
"Yes," exclaimed the officer. "And a pretty big game it seems to have
been--eh? So you've been working a cable across to Germany, have you?
We've had suspicion that the cable laid to Wangeroog might have had a
second shore-end, and, indeed, we started dredging for it off the Spurn
only two days ago."
"Mr Rodwell," said Trustram, addressing him, as the two detectives were
searching him for firearms: "You thought you were very clever. You
betrayed me once, but I took very good care that all the information I
gave you afterwards should be such as you would work for England's
advantage, and not for yours. In one case last week, when your masters
acted upon my information, we were able to bag six of your submarines in
the Straits of Dover within forty-eight hours. So you see my game was a
double one," he added, with a smile of satisfaction.
Rodwell was so nonplussed at thus being caught red-handed, that he could
utter no reply. All his bluff and defiance had left him, and he stood
white, inert, with a look of abject shame and terror upon his changed
countenance.
As for the woman, she gave vent to a torrent of bitter vituperation.
But nobody noticed her; she had, like poor old Tom Small and his son,
been simply tools of that unscrupulous and clever master-spy in whose
stirring patriotism all England was believing, but who had at last
fallen into the trap which Charles Trustram had so cunningly prepared
for him--a trap in which the confirmation of his traitorous act had
actually been made by the enemy's unseen wireless rays.
Sir Houston said little, except to remark that no doubt Lewin Rodwell's
arrest would put a new complexion upon the case against John Sainsbury,
and result, he hoped, in breaking up the activity of the enemy in our
midst.
Of much that followed the public are already aware.
The newspapers, however, merely reported that Mr Lewin Rodwell, who had
been a most popular speaker at recruiting meetings, who had been a
well-known city financier, and a power in the social and political world
of London, had died suddenly in a motor-car in the Brixton Road. The
Censor, however, suppressed the facts that he had been in the custody of
two officers of the Special Department of New Scotland Yard when the
tragic occurrence happened, and that he had succeeded in swallowing a
tabloid that he had carried concealed in his handkerchief in case of
necessity, while being conveyed to Brixton Prison on a charge of
espionage.
The public knew, of course, that an unnamed woman was under arrest for
acts of war-treason and, later, that she had been sentenced to eight
years' imprisonment. They also knew that Jack Sainsbury had been
mysteriously and suddenly released by a Home Office order, after having
been tried and convicted by court-martial; but the true story of the
evil machinations of Ludwig Heitzman, alias Lewin Rodwell, and how he
had succeeded in bringing such indisputable evidence against an innocent
man, is here revealed for the first time in the foregoing pages.
On the evening of Lewin Rodwell's well-deserved, but cowardly end--the
evening of the day of his arrest--Sir Boyle Huntley disappeared from
London to the Continent, and was never again seen.
On that same night, too, at ten o'clock, there was a little assembly in
Sir Houston Bird's consulting-room in Cavendish Square. Jack and his
fiancee were standing happily reunited and arm in arm, while Charles
Trustram and Sir Houston were also present. It was then that Trustram
decided to hand over the note which poor Dr Jerrold had left for his
friend on the fatal night before he took his own life.
Jack broke the seals, and slowly taking out the brief letter, read it,
his lips contracting as he realised its contents. Then he handed it
from one to the other until they had all read it.
The confession, for such it was, showed how Jerrold had, like old
Small--who, by the way, was forgiven, for the assistance he had in the
end rendered to the authorities--first been inveigled into the net
spread by a moneylender, and having been forced to perform a small
traitorous though unsuspected act three years before the outbreak of
war, had, in order to extricate himself from financial ruin, been
constantly threatened with exposure by Rodwell if he refused to further
help the enemy, now that we were at war. He had steadfastly defied the
master-spy, and had, indeed, in order to retrieve his past, boldly
sought out spies and denounced them. But, alas! Rodwell's widespread
influence in the network of espionage asserted itself, and into the
hands of the Intelligence Department there had been placed the facts,
with the proofs of his action three years before. A warrant had
consequently been issued, and rather than bear the blackmail longer, or
the punishment, he had been driven to take his own life, and thus
unfortunately give colour to the base, unfounded charges levelled
against his friend.
Then, when the lovers knew the truth--and that the anonymous letter of
warning had been sent by the woman Kirby in order to mystify them and
thus strengthen Rodwell's hand--Jack, heedless of their two friends
being present, turned and kissed his well-beloved fondly upon the lips.
He saw that her big blue eyes were dimmed by tears of joy, and then he
said, his voice trembling with emotion:
"At last, my darling, I am free--free to love and to marry you--free at
last of that terrible stigma placed so cleverly and wilfully upon me by
that mean, despicable coward, who was both spy and blackmailer."
"Yes, Jack dear," whispered the girl softly, as she raised her ready
lips to those of her lover--"yes, you are free, and moreover we now love
each other far better than ever we did, for our affection has been
tried--tried and proven in the fire of the hatred of `Number Seventy
Berlin.'"