Читать книгу Bernard Treves's Boots - Laurence Clarke - Страница 10

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The moment the door closed upon John, General Whiston flung himself into a chair beside Sir Robert's table. There was an expression on his face that puzzled the Police Commissioner.

"Well, Sir Robert," began the General, "it is an amazing thing, but Captain Gilbert corroborates our prisoner's statements entirely."

Sir Robert flashed a glance at the incriminating letters on the table.

"That's impossible!"

"Nevertheless, Gilbert, who is a very sound officer, corroborates every word this young man has said. I have ordered Gilbert to present himself here first thing in the morning."

Sir Robert was staring in utter bewilderment.

"You mean we have got the wrong man?"

"I don't know," answered the General, impatiently; "the thing is beyond my capacity. I've known this young blackguard for years. Only slightly, of course, but I would have sworn to him anywhere. Gilbert, however, tells me an extraordinary story. He says our prisoner is a thoroughly honest fellow, by the name of Manton. He gave me a minute history of the man, who was formerly at Scarthoe Head. I have ordered the adjutant from Scarthoe to report himself here to-morrow. We can then get to the bottom of this extraordinary tangle."

"But," protested Sir Robert, "these letters must be explained; and you have had this man watched for months."

"Precisely; that complicates matters enormously."

"Was Treves guilty of the crimes laid against him, or was this man guilty?" inquired Sir Robert.

The General shook his head in bewilderment.

"Don't ask me; I don't know," he said, "to-morrow will settle everything."

The night that followed was the longest that John had ever spent. What if by some awful mischance Captain Gilbert disowned him entirely? However, he could not think that of Gilbert. He was prepared to swear by the Captain's honesty.

A police officer called him early next morning. He dressed and was served with a satisfactory breakfast. A morning newspaper was brought to him, but at ten o'clock he was peremptorily summoned to present himself in Sir Robert's room. Under escort he made his way along various passages. The door was opened and he stepped into the room and stood at attention.

Sir Robert was not present. General Whiston stood at the window, and near him was a sleek-looking, smooth-haired, clean shaven man in a morning coat, well cut trousers and patent leather boots. John could feel the stranger's eyes steadily upon him.

Then Whiston turned from the window.

"Captain Gilbert," he said, "has been here. He has made certain statements on your behalf which are so far satisfactory."

A silence fell; the stranger moved to Sir Robert's desk, seated himself in Sir Robert's chair, and beckoned John to a chair opposite.

Dacent Smith was the head of a great branch of the Secret Intelligence Department, but there was no air of authority in his manner.

"Sit down, please," he said. His voice was smooth and agreeable. He glanced at the window, then again at John.

"Will you kindly tell me the name of your officer in command at Scarthoe Fort?"

John promptly gave him the name.

"How many men were in the fort?" The quiet gentleman, who possessed one of the subtlest brains in England, glanced at a slip of paper on his desk. He was putting John through an examination such as many a suspected person had failed to survive.

"One hundred and fifty, sir—eighty at the lower fort and seventy at the upper, exclusive of officers."

"Can you recollect the calibre of the guns?"

John gave the exact dimensions of the guns at both the lower and upper fort.

"Can you possibly recollect," inquired the other, "from your books, what store of six-inch ammunition there was?"

Fortunately John recollected the number of shells exactly.

"I see," commented the cross-examiner. "But your statement doesn't tally with my present knowledge."

"I am speaking of six weeks ago, sir; since then there would have been a heavy gun practice," John added promptly.

The elder gentleman leaned back in his chair.

"These are all details which a spy would make a great point of observing." He looked steadily into John's face, until John became conscious of nothing but his keen, grey eyes. They were kindly eyes, but the intensity of his glance was something that John had never before experienced. He looked back frankly into the elder man's face.

"I suppose they are, sir," he answered, "but they came to me in my ordinary course of work."

"How many fort candles were there in the storeroom?" asked the other, casually.

"Eight dozen, sir."

Dacent Smith nodded, as though satisfied.

"We will now come to another matter," he said. "You were educated in Germany?"

John admitted the fact.

"Have you been in Germany since your boyhood?"

"Never, sir."

"What is your opinion of Captain Gilbert?"

"I took a great liking to him."

"You trusted him when he asked you to assume another man's identity?"

"Absolutely, sir."

"So do I," said Dacent Smith, suddenly changing his tone. "I trust him absolutely. I will only try your patience just one moment longer." He pushed a clean slip of paper towards John. "Would you mind writing on that these three words, 'Deceive,' 'parallel,' and 'nursery.' Just scribble them quickly, without care."

John wrote the words and handed them across the table. The elder man took the sheet and immediately compared it with Treves's incriminating letter, and a pile of other letters in Treves's handwriting, which lay beside him.

He glanced up at the General, who stood near the window.

"The handwriting is totally unlike, General. Moreover, our young friend here can spell the words, whereas, from letters supplied us by Gilbert, Treves could not." He turned again and looked at John. Then he broke into a smile that John found charming.

"Well, Manton," he said, "you have come through the ordeal excellently. But as a matter of formality you must be identified both by Captain Gilbert and your adjutant from Scarthoe Head."

"Thank you, sir," answered John. "I am sorry to have caused so much trouble."

"No, not at all," protested the elder man. "Your desire for adventure placed you in a very nasty position. But such trouble as you have caused us may yet be turned to good account."

John hesitated a moment, then ventured:

"If I may, sir, I would like to make a statement in regard to the man Manners, at 208, St. George's Square, I am certain he is a spy, sir—a German spy."

"My dear Manton," said Dacent Smith, laying his hands on the desk, "we know that already."

"And the other man," continued John, "Cherriton. I don't believe he is all he pretends to be."

At the mention of Cherriton the lightness of mood vanished from the elder man.

"What name?" he inquired.

"Captain Cherriton, the man with the fair hair, who was in the taxi with me. The police officers allowed him to escape."

Beyond the table the great man of the Secret Service who had been cross-examining him, eased his spectacles. For, without knowing it, John had made a statement which aroused all his interest.

"This afternoon, Manton," he said, "you must come to my room. It seems to me," he continued, "you can be of very great use to my department."

"What is your department, sir?" asked John politely.

The elder man smiled.

"I think we need not give it a name, Manton. But perhaps you can guess. Perhaps, indeed, you are destined to make further acquaintance with my department and with your friend, Mr. Manners." He paused a moment.

"Captain Gilbert tells me that you wish to rejoin the army?"

"That is so, sir," answered John.

"An excellent intention," continued Dacent Smith. "But it has occurred to me that there is other work of national importance which may suit you better." He glanced at Whiston. "With General Whiston's aid I think we can arrange that you do not appear in uniform for some time. Another thing Captain Gilbert reported to me," he went on, quietly, "is that you are a young man with a taste for adventure."

John smiled.

Dacent Smith extended his hand in farewell. "You are a free man, Manton. But I shall expect you to come to my rooms at 286, Jermyn Street at three o'clock this afternoon." He gave John a card. "You will give this to my servant at the door."

The card read: "Mr. Dacent Smith, Savile Club"—that and nothing more.

* * * * *

At the time when John was undergoing his cross-examination at the hands of the great Dacent Smith, Manners and Captain Cherriton were seated in a back room at a house in Hampstead. Cherriton, who had read half a dozen morning papers, glanced at his companion.

"There is no word in any of them about our friend Treves."

"There was scarcely time for an announcement," Manners answered. "Perhaps it will be in the evening papers."

The two men waited till evening, but still the papers contained no line about Treves's capture. Cherriton was still not sure on what charge Treves had been arrested. If the charge had been an ordinary one, other than treason, there would already have been an account of some kind.

"We must find out some other way than through the papers."

"I have an excellent way of finding out," observed Manners.

"Well, put it into execution at once," returned his superior.

Manners looked at his watch.

"That way won't do until after six o'clock. After six o'clock, Herr Baron, I will take you into the presence of the most beautiful girl in England."

"I do not admire English beauty," answered Rathenau, caustically.

Manners lifted his hands.

"Ah, but this one, she is wonderful!"

"How will she know about Treves, any more than we do?"

Manners looked across at him.

"Leave that to me," he said, "I can assure you she will know." He took out his pocket-book and looked up an address. "If we go now," he said, "we shall get there a little after six, in time to interview the lady on her return from business."

Half an hour later a taxi sped along Kentish Town Road and turned into Bowles Avenue, Camden Town. The street was a particularly respectable one, with windows and doors freshly painted. Judging from the cleanliness of the curtains and the brightness of the door handles, the inhabitants of this thoroughfare each took a pride in his residence.

The taxi containing Manners and Cherriton drew to a halt before the door of No. 65. Cherriton paid the driver and dismissed him. The two men crossed the pavement, and Manners lifted the bright brass knocker. Three times Manners knocked.

He was that day attired with particular smartness in a grey, soft felt hat, a grey frock-coat, and light fawn linen gaiters. The Baron was wearing a navy-blue suit, made for him at the Army and Navy Stores. He also wore a grey felt hat, set well back on his head. In his hip pocket he carried a Mauser pistol, but this was always part of his apparel, as it were. Manners carried other little aids to his personal safety. But upon that evening their mission was pacific. They had only a desire to ask a certain lady if she had news of Treves.

Three times Manners applied the knocker; then footsteps came rapidly along the passage. The door was opened by a tall, brown-haired girl, wearing a white blouse and blue skirt, both of which Cherriton noticed were well cut. The girl's complexion was not pale, yet tended towards pallor. Her cheeks were softly rounded, her chin small, yet firm. Her eyes were grey, frank and steady in gaze. Cherriton, noticing her long, curved lashes and finely-arched brows, conceded that here, for once, he was looking upon a truly beautiful English woman.

"Good evening," Manners was saying. He had lifted his hat with extreme politeness.

"Good evening," responded the girl, looking with puzzled eyes from one man to the other.

"You have no doubt forgotten me," Manners spoke again, and then a faint recognition came to the girl's eyes.

"Oh, not at all," she said. "Will you come in?" She led the way to a little parlour, a bright little apartment, where she lived alone. She had made it as pretty and comfortable as possible with her small means.

The two Germans entered the room, and Manners closed the door. After some preliminary conversation he broached the subject of his visit, but artfully and cunningly hiding it in a veil of words.

"I have some business, madam," he said, "with"—he paused a moment—"with Mr. Treves. I have lost his address; I wonder if you could give it me?"

The girl looked at him a moment; an expression of reserve came into her face.

"I am afraid I cannot oblige you," she said.

"You have heard from him lately?"

The girl hesitated a moment, and pushed back the fine brown hair from her brow.

"Not lately," she answered.

"You will be seeing him again shortly, no doubt?" pursued Manners, smiling amicably.

"I don't know," said the girl. "I am afraid," she said, "I cannot give you his address, and if that is all you wish to see me about——" She rose quite politely, but firmly. And as she did so some one lifted the knocker of the front door and smote it thrice.

Manners started visibly.

"You have visitors?" he asked quickly.

"I don't know who it can be," said the girl. "I am expecting no one."

Manners sprang up and stood between her and the door. He looked into her face as she came towards him, then moved politely away. He felt that her candid eyes held no secrets.

When the door had closed he turned to Cherriton.

"She has heard nothing of him; she knows no more than we do."

"She is a beautiful woman, I'll admit," said Cherriton, who had been deep in thought. He raised his strong, supple hand and pointed towards the door. "Just open that," he said quietly, "and see who it is who is coming to visit her."

Manners, with his usual swiftness of step and dexterity of movement, approached the door and noiselessly drew it open. Quietly he put his head out and looked along the passage. Then he drew back and gently closed the door. His face, when he turned towards Cherriton, was deathly white.

"Who is it?" demanded Cherriton, who had come swiftly to his feet.

"Bernard Treves!" answered Manners, moistening his lips with his tongue. The thought that Treves had betrayed them blazed through his mind.

In an instant Cherriton sprang to the window and peered furtively up and down the street.

"He's alone," he said, with a note of relief in his voice.

"Gott in Himmel!" exclaimed Manners under his breath. "How did he get here?"

"Either escaped or acquitted," answered Cherriton, curtly. "Our business," he went on swiftly, under his breath, "is to express great delight when we see him. In the meantime I'll compose myself with a cigarette."

"I don't know why his coming back like this should make me feel so nervous," mused Manners. "I am more psychic than you are, Herr Baron."

Cherriton looked at the big, fat figure in the chair opposite him. He curled his lip in faint contempt.

Meanwhile John Manton, having knocked at the door of 65, Bowles Avenue, found, to his astonishment, that that door was opened by a girl of most extreme beauty. He had come there under orders from Dacent Smith to discover the identity of the sender of the telegram signed "Elaine." He had been given many instructions during that afternoon, but as he stood upon the threshold of No. 65 a swift admiration leapt into his eyes for the girl who confronted him on the doorstep.

"May I come in?" asked John.

"Of course," answered the girl. To his amazement, she seized his hand as she spoke. "Oh, how long you have been!" she said. She drew him into the hall and closed the door. Silence and caution were the parts John had been ordered to play. He did not withdraw his hand from her warm grasp. "You never came, you never wrote," continued the girl.

"I wasn't able to," John answered, truthfully.

"And yet I told you, Bernard," she went on, looking up into his face—he was glad that the light in the hall was not intense—" and yet I told you, Bernard, that if you confessed everything to your father he would forgive."

"He has forgiven a great deal," answered Manton, vaguely. He looked down at her—a little colour had come into her cheeks, and, as for her eyes, he had never seen eyes which evoked in him so much admiration. At that moment Manners put his face out at the door of the inner room; then swiftly withdrew it.

"Who's that?" John asked, quickly.

"It's a man who has come to see you, Bernard; but before you go in I want to say"—she laid her hand softly on the lapel of John's coat—"I want to say, Bernard, that I forgive you—everything." She was smiling at him, a smile of wonderful beauty. "After all, Bernard," she whispered, "I am your wife, and it is a wife's privilege to forgive."

"Yes," answered John. He could think of nothing else to say. Here was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, holding his hand warmly in hers, and telling him she forgave him everything. The situation would have been delightful if he had only been the other man!

"Bernard, for my sake, you will try, won't you?" She paused, and this time he was obliged to frame some sort of answer.

"I'll do the best I can," he said, lamely, then added, to turn the subject, "Who is your visitor?"

"It's Mr. Manners, the big, stout man you brought here a long while ago. He has a friend with him, a younger man."

"Captain Cherriton?" asked John, lowering his voice.

The girl nodded.

"They came to ask where you were, and wanted your address, but I remembered what you told me and would not give it."

Then for the first time John looked keenly into her face. He had never seen her in his life before, and at any moment she might recognise him. But even with that danger hovering over him he could not help wondering if she loved Treves.

"Come, Bernard"; she took his hand in hers. "You must see your friends and get rid of them."

John walked with her along the narrow passage. At the door of the parlour the girl halted.

"When they are gone," she whispered, "I have whole heaps of things to tell you."

She pushed open the door and followed John into the room.

Manners, who was seated at the hearth, sprang up and rushed towards Manton.

"Come in! Come in!" he cried, drawing John forward. "It does my eyes good to see you again, eh, Captain Cherriton?"

Baron Rathenau, who had also risen, enclosed Manton's fingers in his hard, cold grip. "I, too, am glad to see you," he said, fixing his eyes steadily on John's.