CHAPTER XIX

In the soft illumination of the white and gold dining-salon of the Golden Pavilion Hotel John found himself completely at home. Two days had passed since his visit to Elaine, and he was again at work under the aegis of Dacent Smith. He had chosen a quiet table in the corner, had selected the dishes for his dinner, and was leaning back in his chair surveying the brilliant scene with an appreciative eye. The Golden Pavilion Hotel is famed alike for its refined and luxurious furnishings, its band, its cuisine, and its exclusiveness. The head waiter, who looked like an archbishop, advanced soundlessly over the rich carpet, and stood at John's elbow.

"I beg your pardon," said the man, in a low, smooth voice, "but the lady at the table beyond the second pillar, sir, would like to have a word with you."

John raised his head and glanced in the direction the man had indicated. He had already seen Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, and had made a special point of concealing the fact. He rose now, however, and moved across the room between crowded tables.

Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, seated with a party of friends, flashed a brilliant smile at him when he advanced.

"Oh, you poor lonely creature," she exclaimed, as she placed her jewelled fingers in his. "I saw you moping in your corner," she continued, when a waiter had brought an extra chair and John had accepted an invitation to dine with her party, "and took pity on you; don't you think that was nice of me?" She looked at him with a long, deep glance, conscious of her striking beauty. Her beauty was of the instantly arresting order. The fact that the art of coiffeur and cosmetic enabled her to heighten her charms was all in her favour where men were concerned. Quite, as it were, by accident, she now laid her fingers on John's sleeve.

"I must introduce you to my guests. My husband you already know."

John bowed slightly towards Mr. Beecher Monmouth, whose evening clothes intensified the sallowness of his complexion. John noted the parchment-like character of his skin, the tired look in his eyes, and the manipulation of his thin hair to create the effect of youthful plenty. He was an old man striving hopelessly to look young. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned her eyes from her husband towards the slender figure of a woman at her right-hand side.

"Lady Rachel," she said, "may I present Mr. Treves." John bowed again, and Lady Rachel Marvin smiled at him graciously. She was a woman of slender figure, with exceptionally large, long-lashed eyes. Her neck was long, slender and white, and she wore diamond ear-rings, which scintillated as she moved her head. Her age was probably thirty-five, and she was, in appearance, distinctly aristocratic. Her voice was thin and high-pitched, and she talked incessantly.

The third member of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's party was a fat woman of fifty, the wealthy wife of a colonel in the gunners. Any woman assessing the jewels Mrs. Pomfret Bond wore would have known that she was wealthy, and that she was determined other people should know it. She was a foolish, vulgar woman, and John, looking at her, realised almost immediately that she would be as wax in the hands of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. But it was to Lady Rachel Marvin that John turned his attention. "Did you know the Seventh Division has been moved from Aldershot?" she was inquiring, looking at Beecher Monmouth.

"No," said the elderly man, "we don't hear anything in Parliament, Lady Rachel."

"I heard it only quite by accident," babbled Lady Rachel. "You know my cousin, Derrick, is in the Coldstreams; you remember Derrick?" she said, turning her big eyes upon Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, "I have told you so much about him."

Mrs. Beecher Monmouth smiled brilliantly and nodded. Lady Rachel then went on to explain that it was Derrick who had told her of a new gun being tested at Woolwich. Derrick had been on the G.H.Q. Staff, "and," went on Lady Rachel, "he is almost as mysterious about it as his friend Commander Loyson is about the new cruiser--the _Malta_, which has just been put into commission at ----"

"Is there a new cruiser being commissioned at ----?" inquired John, sliding into the conversation. He was so apparently interested that Lady Rachel looked at him with a pleased expression on her somewhat foolish face.

"I am afraid, Mr. Treves, I ought not to chatter about it. But being behind the scenes, and knowing so many people one naturally picks up little bits of news here and there. It is quite easy to piece the bits together. I have not heard anything actually about the new cruiser," she said, "the _Malta_, I mean, but from things Commander Loyson said to Derrick, and from other things I have heard, I can assure you it is something wonderful."

John, listening to her chatter, wondered how much of this information she had, out of sheer vanity, passed on to Mrs. Beecher Monmouth.

Lady Rachel Marvin certainly knew a great number of people, and her social position gave her many chances to pick up exclusive information. Her silly, butterfly existence consisted in flitting from one drawing-room to another. Here she exchanged such gossip as she had been able to collect from her equally frivolous friends. As John listened to her he realised that such women as Lady Rachel are a real source of danger to the nation.

When dinner was at an end Lady Rachel went to speak to some friends at another table, and the minute she had gone Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned her attention solely to John, ignoring Mrs. Pomfret Bond and the "Ogre."

"Naughty boy," said Mrs. Beecher Monmouth under her breath. "Why have you never been to see me?"

"I have been in the Isle of Wight visiting my father," answered John promptly.

"I know that," answered she; "therefore, and because you sent me those Russian cigarettes, I intend to forgive you! Now, you must come and see me soon," she went on, "there are many things I want to talk to you about."

"I should like to talk to you about quite a number of things," responded John in the same intimate tone.

"When can you come?" asked she.

"Any time you like."

"Not to-morrow, the 'Ogre' will be at home then," she said, in a voice too low for Mr. Beecher Monmouth to catch. "Don't you think he is looking very old and worn?"

John glanced at Beecher Monmouth's glazed countenance and tired eyes, and even at that moment the elderly politician was looking adoringly at his wife, admiring the richness of her hair, the fine contour of her shoulders, and the brilliance of her complexion. John felt almost sorry for the befooled and weary Member of Parliament, who had sold his old age and his happiness into the bondage of this woman.

"Come to tea the day after to-morrow," said Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, and John accepted the invitation with alacrity.

Two days later when he presented himself at five o'clock in the afternoon at Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's residence in Grosvenor Square, he was ushered immediately into the lady's boudoir.

He had seen that room only in the illumination of the pink-shaded electric light, now he saw it again in daylight, and found it even more luxurious than he had imagined--the white polar-bear rug, the brilliant-hued Chinese _kakemonos_ hung on the wall behind Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's divan, the long gilt-framed mirrors, and gilt-legged chairs all conspired to create an atmosphere of sumptuous richness. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth in an afternoon gown which gave her almost a slender and distinguished appearance, was seated in a low arm-chair. Lady Rachel Marvin occupied the divan, and John, much as he disliked this foolish ox-eyed woman of fashion, was obliged to admit that she had disposed herself gracefully upon the cushions. The third guest was Mrs. Pomfret Bond, who was delighted to be in that society, and talked as much military gossip as she could to show that she, too, was in the swim.

When John had been cordially received, and had accepted a cup of tea and a fragment of bread and butter, he seated himself at the foot of the divan and entered into conversation with Lady Rachel. Under orders from Dacent Smith he had come there with that express purpose.

"We have been talking of the dreadful news, Mr. Treves," said Lady Rachel, biting a slip of bread and butter with long sharp teeth.

"You mean the sinking of the _Malta_?" inquired John.

"Yes, how appalling it is," said she. "I heard it before it appeared in the papers."

"It's one of the worst disasters we have had for some time," responded John; "a new ship costing a million pounds of public money, and two hundred fine lives."

Mrs. Pomfret Bond spoke up indignantly.

"I can't imagine how the Germans find out about our ships. We're supposed to have an Intelligence Department. Why don't they put a stop to this sort of thing?"

"I expect they do the best they can," remarked John.

"But one always has to reckon with spies," said Mrs. Pomfret Bond.

"Of course," said John.

"But the _Malta_ was a new vessel," observed Mrs. Beecher Monmouth; "how could they find out when she was to leave ----?"

"The Germans must have found out," intervened Lady Rachel, claiming the conversation again, "for no submarines had been in those waters for weeks, and they had been swept for mines the day before. I know this for a fact."

John looked at her keenly. That afternoon he had had a long conversation with Dacent Smith in regard to Lady Rachel Marvin. The fact that she had, two days ago, mentioned the _Malta_ during her irresponsible chatter at dinner, had aroused a suspicion in John's mind that possibly the disaster which had happened to the new cruiser had been directly due to her foolish vanity--to her ineradicable desire to obtain social distinction by revealing to her friends her superior knowledge of what went on behind the scenes. This idea, as he sat in her presence now, listening to her talk, grew in strength, and at the first opportunity that occurred, he drew Mrs. Beecher Monmouth aside. He knew that he was venturing upon very thin ice in putting questions to her.

"Well, you bad boy," whispered Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, "why have you been trying to flirt with Lady Rachel?"

John had seated himself on a low Turkish stool at her side.

"How could I see Lady Rachel when you are in the room?" he answered, gallantly.

"If you only meant it," responded Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, "I'd give you two pieces of sugar in your next cup of tea!"

"Lady Rachel cannot hold a candle to you," affirmed John.

"You mustn't be hard on her," returned Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. In the afternoon light the "Ogre's" wife looked scarcely twenty-five, a remarkably beautiful and imperious woman. Even John was obliged to confess that no fault existed in her passionate and somewhat sensuous beauty. For her part, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was so used to admiration that she accepted John's flattery as a matter of course. Bernard Treves, she told herself, was one of the strings to her bow, and quite the nicest-looking boy of them all. "You mustn't be hard on poor Lady Rachel," she said; "she is such a dear, delightful chatterbox."

"Lady Rachel seems to know a good deal about the _Malta_."'

Mrs. Beecher Monmouth turned her eyes and fixed her gaze swiftly upon him; then she remarked, quietly:

"One of her relations is a big-wig at the Admiralty."

"That fact, and what she picked up from other of her naval friends, enabled her," said John, "to give a guess at when the _Malta_ would leave ----"

Mrs. Beecher Monmouth became suddenly very still.

"How did you know that, Bernard?" she asked.

John observed a hardening of the line of her mouth.

"I merely put two and two together and assumed it," he said. Then, quietly daring, he leaned forward, unobserved by others in the room, and seized Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's hand.

"Is it true?" he questioned.

She looked at him a long minute, and then smiled, but there was a cruel light in her eyes.

"It is true," pursued John.

A silence followed; then Mrs. Beecher Monmouth inclined her fine head very slightly. John was dexterous enough not to slide his hand away from hers too soon. The aversion he felt from her made him remove it as soon as he reasonably could. Then he drew in a deep breath.

"I see," he said, in a low voice, "she told you when the _Malta_ was to sail."

And though Mrs. Beecher Monmouth was too cautious to admit the fact, John knew in his heart that it was absolutely true. Lady Rachel, exercising her silly desire for gossip, had been tricked into imparting this fatal information. Because of this she was, John believed, just as much responsible for the sinking of the _Malta_ as if she herself had discharged the torpedo which wrought its doom. She was, in fact, an unwitting traitor to her country. And John, as he moved from Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's side, felt a certain implacable animosity towards this vain society woman, with her wide eyes, her high-pitched voice, her elegant aristocratic poses.

Nevertheless, he was politeness itself as he drew her towards the window.

"I'd like to have a word with you alone, Lady Rachel," he said.

When they were out of earshot of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth and Mrs. Pomfret Bond, John lowered his voice, and looked down into the big, long-lashed eyes.

"You were speaking a few minutes ago, Lady Rachel," he said, "of the _Malta_."

Lady Rachel smiled and nodded.

"I think," went on John, "I ought to inform you that I am a member of the Intelligence Department!"

"Oh, are you really?" exclaimed Lady Rachel, looking at him with a sudden vivid interest. "I have so often wanted to meet some one in the secret service. I think you all so splendid!"

"I am glad you appreciate us," John answered dryly; "perhaps, Lady Rachel," he went on, "you would like to know more about our department?"

"I should love it dearly," said she, with an expression of delight on her weakly pretty features.

"Well," said John, "if you care to accompany me to my office in a few minutes, I will present you to my Chief. He has already expressed a wish to meet you."

Lady Rachel looked puzzled for a moment.

"Perhaps I know him, Mr. Treves. I may have met him in society. I suppose I mustn't ask his name?" she added mysteriously.

"No, don't ask his name," answered John.

Ten minutes later Lady Rachel Marvin was seated beside John in a taxi. The vehicle glided out of Grosvenor Place and passed Green Park.

"Why are you looking so grim?" observed the lady. as John leaned back with folded arms.

"I am thinking of the _Malta_ and of the two hundred fine fellows who were drowned yesterday."