CHAPTER XX

It was six o'clock when John stepped out into Dacent Smith's bachelor room. His Chief was seated at his desk, deep in work. John closed the door and crossed the room.

"Well?" asked Dacent Smith, raising his head and still sitting with poised pen at his desk.

"I was right, sir, in regard to Lady Rachel Marvin. The information that sunk the _Malta_ was conveyed by her to Mrs. Beecher Monmouth two days ago."

"You don't mean she intentionally conveyed it?" exclaimed Dacent Smith, rising and looking at John in amazement.

"Oh no, sir, not at all; she conveyed it with no intention to do harm, and only out of an inveterate habit of gossip."

Dacent Smith drew his brows together. His expression was more stern in that moment than John had ever seen it.

"A damnable habit of gossiping," he observed forcibly. "Well, what have you done, Treves?"

"I have brought the lady with me, sir, thinking you would wish to act at once in regard to her."

Dacent Smith nodded in approbation.

"Send her in to me, Treves, and wait outside."

John went out of the room, and Dacent Smith moved to the mantelshelf and looked for a moment at the photograph of a girl of eighteen, a girl who looked scarcely more than a child. He was still at the hearth when Lady Rachel was ushered into the room by John, who closed the door and left the two together. What took place between Dacent Smith and the woman whose foolish vanity had sunk the _Malta_ John did not know, but he was able to guess pretty well, for twenty minutes later Dacent Smith opened the door and summoned him into the room.

"Come in, Treves."

John entered and found Lady Rachel standing near his Chief's desk. Her face was white, her nose unromantically red; she had been crying. On Dacent Smith's desk lay a letter in Lady Rachel's handwriting.

DEAR BOB, it ran, _I have had a sudden breakdown in health. The doctors inform me I am to go to Pitt Lunan Hydro for at least four months. I may not even be well enough to return to town even then. Forgive me, Bob, for not being able to say good-bye, but I am obliged to hurry away at once_.

_Your devoted wife,_ RACHEL.

As John entered the room Lady Rachel Marvin folded this letter, placed it in an envelope, and, still standing, addressed it to her husband, "Lieutenant-Commander Marvin, H.M.S. ----, Southampton." She closed the envelope and accepted a stamp from Dacent Smith.

Dacent Smith broke the long silence that followed.

"Treves," said he, "Lady Rachel leaves Euston for Scotland to-night by the seven o'clock train."

"I don't want to go to Scotland!" intervened Lady Rachel petulantly. "I dislike hydros intensely; I think them absolutely detestable places!"

Dacent Smith watched her for a moment with unrelenting eyes, then spoke in a tone there was no mistaking.

"Lady Rachel, you will take the train for Scotland to-night. You will then stay there the full period my department has prescribed for you." Lady Rachel flashed a rebellious look at him, but Dacent Smith continued in his unyielding tones: "Failing this, you will find yourself, I can assure you, in a place far more 'detestable' to you than even the most uncomfortable of hydros!"

He turned to his desk. For a moment Lady Rachel wavered, then, seeing from his attitude that resistance was hopeless, she lifted her head and went haughtily out of the room. John escorted her to the street, helped her into a taxi, and saw her drive away after a flash of her big eyes that was meant either to consume him with fire or to freeze him to death; he did not know which. When John returned his Chief was standing at the mantelshelf. The expression of sternness had entirely left his face. In his fingers he held the photograph of a charming girl, scarcely more than a child. For a minute he was silent, his eyes upon the figure in the silver frame; then he held up the picture and showed it to John.

"This is my niece, Treves," he said quietly.

John took the photograph and inspected it critically.

"An extremely pretty girl, sir."

Dacent Smith nodded.

"She is just eighteen, Treves. She became engaged to young Rashleigh, gunnery lieutenant on the _Malta_." His tones deepened in intensity. "That was four days ago--and to-day Rashleigh is dead. He was one of the finest fellows who ever stepped. And, in my opinion, he and two hundred others lost their lives solely because Lady Rachel Marvin could not keep her mouth shut. My niece, who is still only a child--you can see for yourself what she is like, Treves"--for the first time his voice shook with emotion--"my niece is at home lying in a semi-conscious condition. The doctors tell us that her reason is threatened--and all this because a silly woman babbled about things that didn't concern her!"

The man who was one of the greatest powers in the country was still holding the photograph in his fingers, his eyes fixed pitifully upon the delicate girlish beauty of his niece. He replaced it slowly on the mantelshelf, then, turning, stood looking before him, his hands clenched at his side. The sternness of his lips at that moment revealed to John all the hidden strength behind his kindly exterior; he was stirred to the depths. And suddenly he flashed a look at John and struck his open palm with a clenched fist.

"If I had my way, Treves," he said between tense lips, "if the powers that be would make me autocrat for a week, I'd treat these fool women as traitors. An unguarded word," he went on, "is, in my opinion, just as much an act of disloyalty in time of war as an insult to the flag or the army. If the public only knew it, we have lost ship after ship, and possibly thousands of men, as a result of vain gossip in clubs, trains, shops and smart drawing-rooms. On Saturday we lost a cruiser worth a million. Young Rashleigh died, and two hundred splendid sailors, because Lady Rachel Marvin must have her afternoon's social success! What do you think of it, Treves?"

John was thinking of the tragedy of it all--of the desolated homes--the two hundred homes where sorrow stalked that day. He was thinking of the sweet-faced, broken-hearted girl, hovering on the verge of sanity.

"I'd like to wring Lady Rachel's neck!" said John, swept out of himself.

"I could tell you a score of such cases," said Dacent Smith. "In one case a present of a hundred cigarettes and a silly woman's curiosity meant one of the greatest disasters that has occurred to us since the war began." He suddenly stopped, pulled himself up, and became normal in tone. He was fully himself again, the keen, resourceful man of action. "Now, Treves," he said, "we must get back to business. Lady Rachel Marvin has been a valuable 'feeder' to the enemy. She is now out of action, however. I regard," he went on, "Beecher Monmouth, M.P., as also dangerous. Is that your opinion?"

"My opinion," said John, "is that Beecher Monmouth is not disloyal, but, as he is wax in his wife's hands, his political position makes him dangerous."

"You don't believe he could keep a secret from her?"

"From what I've seen of them both, sir, I should doubt it."

Dacent Smith went to his desk and made a note on his writing pad. "I will write a note to the Home Secretary. I think we can get rid of Beecher Monmouth without arousing suspicion. Now, Treves, in regard to the sinking of the _Malta_--we are a little bit at sea in this matter. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth and her accomplices have out-manoeuvred us. In some manner or other she managed to get her information to Germany, or to a German submarine commander, eight hours after picking up the facts from Lady Rachel Marvin. We want to know how she managed to do this, Treves."

He crossed the room as he spoke, and took a sheaf of papers from his cabinet of drawers against the wall. He handed the documents to John. John observed that the sheets were thin and almost transparent, and that each sheet had been written over in indelible pencil.

"You have in your hand," explained Dacent Smith, "intercepted copies of all Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's letters since the fifteenth of last month. That is," he added, "all the letters she has sent through the post. You will notice among them three advertisements--all jewellery for sale."

John glanced at the pile of letters in his hand. There were among them orders to tradesmen, half a dozen letters to a dressmaker, showing the great care with which Mrs. Beecher Monmouth apparelled herself; and two letters written and posted to her husband. These last were interlarded with extravagant expressions of affection and love. But it was the third advertisement, addressed to a famous daily paper, that held John's interest. This ran:

"Lady wishes to sell privately a pearl and platinum pendant, perfectly-matched pearls, surrounding Orient pearl of splendid lustre.--Apply Box A3656."

John closely examined this advertisement, and the other two, which were similar.

"Do you think she is in debt, sir?"

"Beecher Monmouth's a rich man," answered Dacent Smith, "with big interest in the timber business. However, one never knows what an extravagant woman may succeed in spending. I think it may be worth your while, Treves, to follow up the trail of this advertisement. I want you to apply yourself assiduously to the cultivation of this lady for the present. And keep well in mind the fact that, though her letters show nothing, she is yet conveying news regularly to the enemy."