MR. NAYLOR RECEIVES A VISITOR
I
"Height five feet six and a half inches."
"Five feet eight, sir."
"Chest thirty-eight."
"Thirty-eight and a half, sir."
"Weight eleven stone nine."
"Twelve stone, sir."
"Near enough."
"Yes, sir," replied Thompson.
"You've got everything?"
"Down to his under-wear, sir," was the response.
"The ring?"
"Yes, sir."
Malcolm Sage looked up from the buff-coloured paper before him, then
picking up a photograph from the table, proceeded to study it with
great intentness.
"Yes," he said, "Finlay can do it."
At that moment Colonel Walton strode into the room, smoking the
inevitable cigar. Thompson straightened himself to attention, Malcolm
Sage nodded, then once more became absorbed in the photograph.
"I hear Finlay's here," said Colonel Walton.
Sage looked up and nodded. "We've just been checking his
measurements," he said.
"With that Bergen fellow's?"
Sage nodded.
"It's a considerable risk," said Colonel Walton.
"Finlay likes 'em," retorted Sage without looking up. "I'd give a good
deal to solve that little mystery."
The mystery to which Malcolm Sage referred was the arrest of a man on a
Bergen-Hull boat some ten days previously. Although his passport and
papers were in order, his story when he had been interrogated was not
altogether satisfactory. It had been decided to deport him; but
Malcolm Sage, who had subjected him to a lengthy cross-examination, had
decided that it would be better to detain him for the time being, and
the suspect was consequently lodged in the Tower. Both Malcolm Sage
and Colonel Walton were convinced that he had been sent over on a
special mission.
"Where's Finlay?" asked Colonel Walton.
"He's painting the lily," said Sage with a glint in his eye.
"In other words?" enquired Colonel Walton.
"Seeing how near he can get to this Bergen fellow. I took him down to
the Tower to see the men together."
Colonel Walton nodded.
Malcolm Sage regarded disguise as exclusively the asset of the
detective of fiction. A disguise, he maintained, could always be
identified, although not necessarily penetrated. Few men could
disguise their walk or bearing, no matter how clever they might be with
the aid of false beards and wigs.
"You remember the lost code-book?" Sage queried.
"I do," said Colonel Walton.
"A remarkable piece of work of Finlay's," continued Sage. "It wasn't a
disguise, it was an alteration; trim of moustache, cut and colour of
hair, darkened skin and such trifles."
"And the black eye, sir," interpolated Thompson.
"That was certainly a happy stroke," cried Colonel Walton.
"It takes a good deal of moral courage to black your own eye," said
Sage quietly. "I tried it once myself."
"How do you plan to proceed?" It was Colonel Walton who spoke.
"If Naylor is really the man we're after and this Bergen fellow is on a
secret mission, then it's pretty sure they were intended to get into
touch." Sage paused for a moment, then added: "Anyhow, it's worth
trying. It's a risk, of course. Naylor may have met him before."
"The risk will be mainly Finlay's," said Colonel Walton drily, as he
smoked meditatively.
"It would be yours or mine, chief, only nature cast us in a different
mould."
For some moments Colonel Walton did not reply.
"I don't like sending a man on a----" He paused.
"There's no question of sending Finlay; it's more a matter of holding
him back. By the way," he continued casually, "Thompson burgled John
Dene's place last night, got a set of plans, the chit signed by Sir
Lyster and the Skipper, and one or two other papers that should be
useful."
"I don't quite like it, Sage." Colonel Walton knitted his brows.
"It's giving the Yard something to do," was Sage's indifferent retort.
"They're buzzing about John Dene like flies to-day. He's expressing
himself to them in choice Canadian too, so Thompson tells me."
Thompson gave an appreciative grin.
"I dropped in there this morning, sir, and----" He did not conclude
his sentence; but his look was one of keen appreciation. "He's got
some words, has Inspector Bluggers," he added, "but Mr. Dene left him
standing."
"We've just been going over the points of Finlay and the Bergen man,"
explained Sage. "They're pretty well in agreement. Personally I
believe there's a lot in that ring. We stripped the other fellow of
his clothes, Finlay insisted on having them baked. Fussy sort of chap
in things like that," he added, "but that ring. Men don't generally
wear turquoises set in an eccentric pattern. Ha!" He looked up
suddenly.
Colonel Walton looked across at him interrogatingly.
"You remember the initials inside, chief?"
Colonel Walton nodded.
"D.U.A. weren't they?"
"What about Deutsches ueber alles?"
"A bit obvious," suggested Colonel Walton.
"The Hun always is."
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," called Colonel Walton.
A moment later there entered a man of foreign appearance, with dark
well-brushed hair, sallow skin and the deprecating manner of one who is
in a country where he is not quite sure either of the customs or of the
language. For a moment he stood smiling.
Malcolm Sage caught Colonel Walton's eye. Upon Thompson's face there
spread a grin of admiration.
"Wonderful, Finlay," said Colonel Walton. "Wonderful."
"You think it is like?" enquired he who had been addressed as Finlay.
"Wonderful," repeated Colonel Walton, "but," he added a moment after,
"it's a dangerous game."
Finlay shrugged his shoulders in a manner that was almost aggressively
un-English. He possessed one remarkable characteristic, once he had
assumed a personality, he continued to be that man until he finally
relinquished the part.
"He'll put you to sleep if you make a mistake," said Sage with
uncompromising candour.
Again the shrug of the shoulders.
"That ring," said Sage, pointing to a flat gold band on the third
finger of the left hand in which were set three turquoises in the form
of a triangle. "What do you make of the inscription?"
"I do not know," said Finlay with the finnicking inflection of one
talking in a strange tongue.
"What about Deutsches ueber alles?" suggested Walton.
"Ah! you have discovered."
"Perfect," said Sage, "absolutely perfect. You're a genius, Finlay."
With a smile and a half-shrug of his shoulders, Finlay deprecated the
compliment.
"Where are you going to stay?" enquired Colonel Walton.
"At the Ritzton with John Dene, same floor if possible," said Sage.
"He starts from the Tower to-morrow. Released, you know."
Colonel Walton nodded. "By the way, Thompson, you didn't happen to
drop any finger prints about in Waterloo Place?"
"Rubber gloves, sir," said Thompson with a smile.
Malcolm Sage nodded.
"It would embarrass us a bit if you got lodged in Brixton prison," said
Colonel Walton.
"No chance of that, sir," was the confident retort.
"The account will be in the papers this afternoon, I understand."
Malcolm Sage nodded.
"Well, Finlay," said Walton, "off you go and the best of luck. If you
bring this off you ought to get a C.B.E."
"Gott in himmel!" cried Finlay in such tragic consternation, that both
Colonel Walton and Sage were forced to smile.
"No, sir," said Sage drily, "we must guard Department Z. against the
Order of the British Empire; it deserves well of the country.
"When does he go to Streatham?" enquired Colonel Walton.
"I go now," responded Finlay, "if I find the place. These suburbs!"
He rolled his eyes expressively.
Malcolm Sage smiled grimly.
II
For some time Mr. Naylor had sat staring in front of him, immobile but
for the movement of his eyes and the compression of his pouch-like lips
as he swallowed. Irritation or anxiety always caused him to swallow
with a noisy gulp-like sound.
Since lunch he had scowled impartially upon everything. Mrs. Naylor,
Susan, James, the paper, his food, all seemed to come under the ban of
his displeasure. From time to time he muttered under his breath. He
made several efforts to concentrate upon the newspaper before him, but
without success. His eyes would wander from the page and scowl into
vacancy. The heavy jowls seemed to mould his face into a brutal
square, which with his persistent swallowing gave him the appearance of
a toad.
His original anger at the threatened advent of a visitor seemed to have
changed into irritation at his non-arrival. From time to time he
looked at his watch. A step echoing in the street brought him to a
listening attitude. When at last a ring sounded at the bell, followed
by a peremptory "rat-tat," he started violently. He listened intently
to the pad of Mrs. Naylor's footsteps along the passage, to the murmur
of voices that followed, and the sound of steps approaching.
When the door opened, the scowl had fled from Mr. Naylor's features,
the jowls had lifted, the set frown had passed from his brows. His
mouth was pursed up into a smile only one degree less repellent than
the look that it had replaced. Mr. Naylor had assumed his best
public-meeting manner.
"Mr. Van Helder?" he queried, as he shook hands and motioned his
visitor to a seat.
"We shall not be overheard, no?" interrogated Van Helder.
Mr. Naylor shook his head, transferring his eyes from a paper-weight
before him to his visitor's face and back again to the paper-weight.
"These London suburbs!" exclaimed Van Helder, as he drew a silk
handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to wipe his face. "I seem
to have pursued you to everywhere. I crossed from Bergen on the 21st,"
he added with a smile.
"The 21st," repeated Mr. Naylor.
"Just ten days ago," continued Van Helder. "I came not before
because----" He raised his eyes suddenly and looked straight at Mr.
Naylor, who smiled; but there was guile behind the momentary exposure
of his yellow teeth.
"The crossing," continued Van Helder, "three times the alarm of
U-boats." He smiled a crafty little smile. "The Germans they make the
sea unsafe." Again he smiled.
"So you have been in London since the 21st." Mr. Naylor's tone was
casual; but his eyes glinted.
Van Helder nodded indifferently.
"Where are you staying?" Mr. Naylor's eyes never left his visitor's
face.
"At the Ritzton."
"You have been comfortable?" The tone was conversational.
Again Van Helder shrugged his shoulders.
"You have been seeing the sights?" Again the tone was casual; but in
Mr. Naylor's eyes there was a crafty look.
"It is as I have been told," said Van Helder with a smile. "Always
cautious. You are fond of dogs," he added irrelevantly, "I heard one."
"James does not like strangers." This with a sinister smile.
"No?" continued the other; taking a cigarette-case from his pocket and
offering it to Mr. Naylor who declined. "I may smoke?"
Mr. Naylor nodded.
Van Helder lighted a cigarette and proceeded to blow smoke rings with
quiet content. He wanted to think. It was obvious to him that
something was wrong, something lacking. There was the suggestion in
his host's manner of a cat watching a mouse, watching and waiting.
"You are becoming, how do you call it, ungeschickt," he said with a
disarming smile, as he blew three rings in rapid succession.
"You think so?" Mr. Naylor smiled amiably.
"Yes, how do you call it, awkward, clumsy. You have lived long in
England," he continued a little contemptuously, as he ejected more
smoke-rings.
"You find London interesting?" asked Mr. Naylor, with ominous calm. He
was determined to pick up the thread of conversation that had been
snatched from his hand.
"You are a fool." Van Helder turned just as he emitted a smoke-ring.
At the calm insolence of his tone Mr. Naylor started slightly, but
quickly recovered himself.
"What do you mean?"
"I have been in the Tower." For the fraction of a second Van Helder's
eyes sought those of Mr. Naylor. Was it relief that he saw? The
change was only momentary, just a flash.
Van Helder continued to blow smoke-rings as if entirely indifferent
alike to his host's presence and emotions. "I was released yesterday
morning. They apologised for my detention."
"And you came here?" f Mr. Naylor's voice was even and devoid of
inflection.
Deliberately Van Helder took from his pocket a gold ring set with three
turquoises in the form of a triangle. It was his last card.
"Ah! I see you look at my ring," he said, seeing Mr. Naylor's eyes fix
greedily upon it. "It was given to me by one whom I serve."
Deliberately he drew it from his finger again and handed it to Mr.
Naylor, who took it casually and proceeded to examine it. The other
watched him closely. Yes; he was looking at the inscription on the
inside.
"They are not my initials," said Van Helder.
Mr. Naylor looked up quickly. "No," he said, returning the ring.
The other shrugged his shoulders without replying. Mr. Naylor's manner
had undergone a change.
"And now about John Dene. Ah!" as one smoke-ring passed through
another.
"John Dene!"
"Yes, of Toronto," continued Van Helder, smiling and continuing to blow
rings with apparent enjoyment. "He is staying at the Ritzton, too."
"London is full of visitors."
"My friend, we waste time. There is such a thing as over-caution. As
I say you are ungeschickt. There was that affair of John Dene's lunch.
Such things will not please those----" He shrugged his shoulders.
For fully a minute Naylor gazed at him quietly, searchingly.
"There was then the chocolates and the girl."
"I do not understand." Mr. Naylor looked across at him craftily.
"We waste time, I know. I will tell you. The secretary, you make your
woman offer her chocolates at a tea-shop, and to go for a ride in a
taxi. The chocolates----" He shrugged his shoulders expressively.
"She refuses. You are clumsy."
The contemptuous insolence of his visitor seemed to impress Mr. Naylor.
The look of suspicion in his eyes became less marked.
"How did you know?" he asked, still wary.
"We waste time," was the response with a wave of the hand.
For a few moments Mr. Naylor sat watching Van Helder as he continued to
blow rings with manifest content.
"Listen," continued Van Helder. "John Dene has brought over here an
invention, a submarine that is to end the war. He has given it to the
Admiralty."
"Given it!" involuntarily repeated Mr. Naylor.
"Given it. There are patriots even in England. You think he is trying
to sell it, therefore you try to remove him."
"Not selling it." Mr. Naylor leaned slightly forward.
"He gives it on condition that he commands it with his own men. It
makes easy the matter."
"Then it is true what----" Mr. Naylor stopped.
"How did you learn this?" He slobbered his words slightly as he spoke.
"I know things, it is my duty," was the response.
"But what proof----?"
With great deliberation Van Helder drew from his pocket a large
envelope; extracting a single sheet of paper he handed it across the
table. Mr. Naylor snatched it eagerly and proceeded to devour it with
his eyes. "I also got a set of plans of a submarine; but it was one of
our own. He is clever, this man."
"How did you get it?"
Van Helder smiled. "How did you get the copy?" he enquired.
"The copy! How did you know?"
Mr. Naylor stared at him, his jaw a little dropped. He swallowed
noisily.
"You have been clumsy," repeated Van Helder. "You try to kill the cock
that lays the eggs of gold." He shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
Mr. Naylor flushed angrily. "And you?" he almost snarled.
"I am here to watch." He looked across at Mr. Naylor with a cunning
smile. He was at last sure of his ground.
"Watch who?"
Van Helder shrugged his shoulders, and proceeded to light a new
cigarette from the burning end of the old one.
"You must not kill--yet," he said, gazing at the end of his cigarette
to see that it was well alight.
"What then?" demanded Mr. Naylor. His jowls had returned and the
yellow of his teeth was visible between his slightly parted lips.
"Wait and watch," was the reply.
"And let him go North," sneered the other.
"If you kill, where are the plans? Do as you would," he continued
indifferently. "There will be The Day for you, too. Now I go." He
made a movement to rise; but Mr. Naylor motioned him back into his
chair.
Two hours later Mr. Naylor himself let out his visitor. Closing the
front door, he returned to his study, where for an hour he sat at his
table gazing straight in front of him. Mr. Naylor was puzzled.
Conscious that he was being followed by a small man in a grey suit with
shifty eyes, James Finlay made his way leisurely to the High Road where
he took a 'bus bound for Piccadilly Circus.