CHAPTER XXII

In pursuance of Dacent Smith's instructions, John presented himself at the massive doors of 289, Grosvenor Place, two nights later. He had pondered much upon those three advertisements, and the more he considered the matter, the more Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's desire privately to sell her jewels struck him as unusual. It was not usual, he told himself, for a woman of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's position to dispossess herself of jewellery through the medium of advertisements in a newspaper. There are half a dozen firms in Bond Street alone, of proved honesty, any one of which is willing to make purchases of this kind.

John rang the bell, and the butler presently drew open the door.

"I am very sorry, sir," the man began, "but madame is not at home."

John expressed his complete surprise. He was, however, not in the least surprised, and had planned his visit with the sole object of finding Mrs. Beecher Monmouth away from home. For a minute he hesitated, looking doubtfully at the butler.

"Can you," he inquired, "tell me if Mrs. Monmouth's maid is in. I have a message to give her for her mistress."

"I can take any message you wish, sir."

"Thank you, no," said John, smiling at him; "what I have to say is--is rather personal to Mrs. Beecher Monmouth."

"Very good, sir," answered the sedate servant, and bowed. "Will you kindly step into the morning-room."

John went into the morning-room, moved to the window and looked into Grosvenor Place, out over the broad smooth road to the high brick wall surrounding the royal gardens. A few minutes elapsed, and then Cecily, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's maid, came quietly in.

"You wish to see me, sir?"

John turned.

"Yes, Cecily." He looked into her face, noted her bead-black eyes, her olive skin, and the slight tendency to a moustache at the corner of each lip. "Cecily," he said, "I have really come to ask your advice on a little personal matter." Cecily looked at him with an unreadable expression on her sullen countenance. "I want to give Mrs. Beecher Monmouth a present," went on John. "A little matter of a pair of pearl ear-rings. Can you tell me if she is fond of pearls?"

"Pearls, monsieur; oh, no!" Cecily shook her head. "Rubies or emeralds, yes, monsieur, but pearls, no."

"Oh," resumed John, "she doesn't care for pearls then?"

Cecily shook her head.

"She says they are insipid, monsieur."

"Perhaps she is right, Cecily, but in that case," he said, "I shall have to think of something else. Thank you, I am much obliged to you." He slipped a pound note into the woman's hand.

"Thank you, monsieur."

"Perhaps," John probed delicately, "madame is not fond of pearls because she has so many?"

Cecily was folding her pound note.

"Pearls do not suit madame; she never wears them. She has none at all, monsieur, only one pearl necklace, a wedding gift from her husband. She, however, never wears it."

John appeared to think.

"Surely, Cecily, I have seen her wearing a pearl pendant?"

Cecily shook her head again.

"No, monsieur, never. Madame has no pearls."

John laughed.

"Well, in that case, it must be emeralds or rubies."

"Emeralds or rubies," responded Cecily, "madame is most fond of them."

Three minutes later John was out of the house and hailing a taxi. As he relapsed back into the cushions, he fell into thought. "There is certainly," thought he, "more in these advertisements than meets the casual eye. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth detests pearls, she has none, never had any--and yet advertises them for sale!"

A quarter of an hour later, when John stepped into Dacent Smith's room, the elder man glanced quickly up from his desk.

"Well?"

"In regard to those three advertisements of jewellery," answered John, "inserted in the newspaper by Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, I should be glad, sir, if you would have them decoded."

Dacent Smith raised his eyebrows slightly.

John narrated what had occurred at his private interview with Cecily, and Dacent Smith was instantly of the opinion that Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's harmless advertisements were a matter for closer scrutiny. In the first place, he telephoned to his department and ordered that inquiry should be instituted at the newspaper office as to any earlier advertisements which may have been inserted in the paper by Mrs. Monmouth. If the three advertisements were a code message the intelligence decoding department would find its task vastly more easy if a considerable batch of advertisements in the same code were submitted. A brief code message, as John was now well aware, is always difficult to read. The longer the message, the easier is it to decipher.

The department's search at the newspaper office resulted in the finding of no less than sixteen earlier advertisements inserted by Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. In each case, only a box number was given, therefore the lady's identity never became public.

"It looks as if you are on the right track, Treves," said Dacent Smith, when this information was conveyed to him on the telephone.

Half an hour later Dacent Smith, again at the telephone, took down the decoded first advertisement, the one wherein Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had advertised a pearl pendant for sale. John's chief wrote it out carefully, and handed the slip across to the younger man.

"There is your advertisement, Treves," he exclaimed. There was a grave ring in his voice. John took the slip of paper and read:

"Note of Warning.--New standard eight thousand ton ship purposely advertised by shipping authorities here as fitting out at ---- is a 'Q' ship, armed with six-inch guns, torpedo tubes are being fitted. Further news in next message."

John looked up from the pencilled lines. He saw in a flash the exact purport of the message. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth in pretending to advertise a pearl pendant was in reality sending a message to Germany to the effect that a certain vessel then building was a decoy ship, one of the famous vessels which had done so much to break the back of the submarine peril. John could easily realise how swiftly that news would reach Germany. Automatically the paper would reach Holland within two days. Any neutral ship might carry copies, and Berlin's Naval Department would possess the information a few minutes after the daily paper containing Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's advertisement reached Dutch soil. Every German spy in England who read the newspaper would receive the news on the morning of its insertion.

"I think for cunning that beats everything," said John, handing back the paper to Dacent Smith.

"They have been preparing this sort of thing for years," answered Dacent Smith. "But I am willing to admit that Mrs. Monmouth has this time stolen something of a march on us.

"Every one of her advertisements is being decoded, however, and every one, I have no doubt, will convey information of this nature. On the other hand," he said, "we have not yet learnt in what manner she communicated with the submarine that sunk the _Malta_, That must have been a much quicker communication. I shall leave it to you, Treves," he said quietly, "to find out what that method is. You will have to learn much more of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth than we know already. The fight is quickening between us. And the big fight which von Kuhne is planning in the Isle of Wight is not quite so indefinite to us as it was. The date at least is in our possession. And by then," he went on, "all the carrion will have wended their way there, even our friend, Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, will be there by then." John looked at him in sudden surprise.

"I thought she was seldom out of London, sir."

"That is the fact," answered Dacent Smith; "it is also the fact, however, that from the twenty-fourth of this month she has engaged rooms at a select boarding house in Freshwater. She is going to Freshwater," he added ironically, "to recuperate after an arduous London season!" He looked meaningly at John. John understood the significance of that look. The carrion were gathering. By the twenty-eighth all von Kuhne's active forces would be drawn to the Isle of Wight. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, in taking rooms at Freshwater, was acquiring a residence in close proximity to Heatherpoint Fort. John wondered what her particular manoeuvre was to be. He put that question to Dacent Smith.

"We shall know all in good time, Treves," answered his chief. "You yourself will be in the Isle of Wight by then."

A few minutes later John bade good night to Dacent Smith. Being free for that evening, he took the tube to Camden Town. Here, at Bowles Avenue, in the quiet little street, he knocked once again at the door of Elaine's residence. He had not visited Elaine for nearly a week, and he knew that for some days to come he would be deeply occupied with Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, so he wished to make the most of the present opportunity. Twice during the past week Elaine had written him short notes asking him when he could come to visit her. There had been nothing in the notes to convey the idea that she wished him urgently to come. He was surprised, therefore, when Elaine, in answer to his knock, drew open the door and recognised him with an expression of infinite relief in her grey eyes. She was dressed prettily, quietly and inexpensively as usual. John, comparing her appearance with the brilliant beauty of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, realised that Elaine's attraction lay just as much in her fine and upright character, in her intense feminine gentleness and loyalty, as in her beauty itself.

She took John's hand in hers, drew him into the little passage, and quickly shut the door.

"Bernard," she whispered, resting her hand on his shoulder, and looking up into his face, "I am so very glad you have come!"

She drew his face down to hers and kissed him as she had never kissed him before. There was something that was almost passionately fervent in her embrace.

"I have been so afraid for you, Bernard," she murmured.

John released himself. He felt the extreme awkwardness of the situation.

"What made you afraid, Elaine?" He thought at first that an over-vivid imagination had been running away with her, that some feminine mood had made her fear for him. Then he remembered her beliefs as to his character. The man she believed him to be was a weakling with will undermined by drugs, a nervous, overstrung neurasthenic; capable of drifting into all sorts of trouble and embarrassments.

Elaine led him into the little parlour, lit the gas and drew down the blind. John noticed again that something troubled her mind. She appeared to look at him strangely and thoughtfully. And, for an instant, for a fleeting space of time, he feared that she had penetrated the secret of his identity. If this was the case, all his castles in the air would in a minute come toppling about his ears.

"Why are you looking at me so anxiously, Elaine?" he asked, assuming a casual tone of voice.

"It is because of Captain Cherriton, Bernard; he has been here to-day, and has been asking questions about you."

"What sort of questions?" John asked quickly.

"He asked me if you had been at Heatherpoint Fort lately. He himself has been down at the Isle of Wight and he appears to have found out something about you that disturbs him terribly."

John made the best effort he could to play his difficult part.

"Well, Elaine?" he questioned, "did Captain Cherriton tell you the particular cause of his disturbance?" He was smiling slightly as he spoke, treating the matter airily. Nevertheless, inwardly he was deeply perturbed. If Cherriton suspected him, and communicated his suspicions to Voules and his confederates, John knew that the position for himself would be one of infinite peril. He had experienced one fortuitous escape from discovery owing to the interception of "Crumbs's" letter to Voules, but he could hardly hope that fortune would again favour him.

He questioned Elaine closely, and learned that Cherriton had definitely heard of his presence at Heatherpoint Fort at a time when he was supposed to be working in the interest of Voules. This knowledge, John knew, would confirm all Cherriton's suspicions the minute it was discovered that "Crumbs" had been trapped and had vanished from the fort.

However, it was not in John's nature to meet trouble half-way, and for the present he was happy to be in Elaine's radiant company. Elaine, for her part, had much to say to him; in the first place, she detailed all that had occurred in an interview she had had with Dacent Smith. The great man had treated her with marked courtesy, and had, without revealing John's true identity, enlisted her services in much the same manner as Mrs. Beecher Monmouth acted for his adversaries, Voules, Cherriton, Manwitz, and company. Elaine had undertaken the work in the idea that she could thus protect from danger the man she loved, whose name she believed she bore.

John listened to her narrative with the deepest interest, and gradually the wonderful subtlety of Dacent Smith made itself manifest. The great man had promised to relieve him of his awkward predicament in regard to Elaine, and the manner in which he had accomplished his promise was simplicity itself. Elaine was to permit--within limits--the advances of Cherriton, and was to pretend to keep her "husband" at a distance! The neatness of this plan filled John with admiration. He felt instantly much freer with Elaine. The delicate moment when she had offered to resume marital relations with him would not immediately occur again.

For some minutes after Elaine had ceased speaking John held silence--a doubt had come to him.

"Elaine," he said, earnestly, "Captain Cherriton is far more dangerous, perhaps, than you know." He rose, and, pacing back and fore, with an anxious face, warned her that the man was one who would stop at nothing to attain his ends. Elaine listened patiently; then, on a sudden, quick impulse, flung her arms about his neck.

"Bernard," she whispered, "don't you know I love you, my darling? All those minutes that you have been pacing up and down there in raging jealousy----"

"Jealousy!" echoed John.

"It was jealousy, Bernard," she smiled, happy in the possession of his love. "All the time I have been adoring you and loving you more and more. Bernard," she whispered, "I am to pretend not to care. But you will know in your heart, won't you, that I am yours always?" She drew her face away from his and looked deep into his eyes. "You know that, dearest?"

"I know it," said John, looking back at her.

"And you love me as I love you?" questioned she.

He had never seen her so beautiful as in that moment, with her face upturned to his, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes offering him her love. He was standing in another man's shoes, and at that moment those shoes pinched him to the point of anguish. For a fleeting moment he was tempted to fling all prudence to the winds and confess everything. Then the recollection that she was a married woman smote him like a blow. Whatever happened, she could never be his. Very gently and tenderly he held her from him.

"You can't doubt me, Elaine," he said, in a low voice. "Nevertheless, I think Dacent Smith is right; you ought to pretend not to care for me, for just a little while--anyway, until the great contest that is now beginning between our department and Cherriton and his confederates is at an end."

He led her back to her chair, lit a cigarette, and made an effort to give a humorous description of his life during the past few weeks. He told her of Sinclair, of "Crumbs," of his adventure and his visit to Voules; everything, in fact, except his real identity and his arrest in mistake for Bernard Treves.

As his narrative unfolded, Elaine's eyes widened in amazement and admiration.

"I had no idea you were so splendid, Bernard."

"But I am not splendid. I am not telling you that I am splendid."

"Of course you are not, you silly boy; you are trying to make out you are nothing at all. But I shouldn't love you as I do if I couldn't read between the lines. Oh, Bernard, what an idiot I have been about you. I used to think----" she paused and looked away.

"You used to think awful things of me," continued John, "that I took drugs, that I consumed whisky by the half-bottle, that I was a brute both to you and to my old father."

"Yes," said Elaine slowly. "I used to think I----" Then suddenly, and with the inconsequence of woman, she broke off and covered her face with her hands. She was crying softly and steadily. It was not John's business to comfort her. The only man who had the right to do that was the drink-sodden neurotic, who was still a prisoner in the nursing home. Nevertheless, in less than a minute John was kneeling before her.

"What is it, Elaine?" he asked in passionate anxiety. She looked at him with eyes bright with tears.

"It is the past, Bernard; I can't understand it. Those days, long ago, lie like a pain in my heart, always. You have grown so different. It is cowardly and mean of me to think of it, but I love you, Bernard, and I cannot bear to think there was a time when you were not as now." She paused for a moment, and a shadow, a twinge of agony crossed her face. She looked at John with affrighted eyes, then spoke in a low voice. "That night when you struck me, Bernard!"

John felt the blood quicken in his pulses. Some time in the past Bernard Treves had struck her. How and under what circumstances he could not guess. He turned away his head, so that the sudden rage which blazed in his eyes should not be visible to her. For a moment he was silent, then collecting his senses, he said quietly, and still without looking at her:

"Elaine, I swear that if in the past I ever raised my hand to you, ever was cur enough to strike you, then I know nothing of it. I have no memory of such a thing," he went on, speaking the truth.

"I tell myself that, in those early days, you were not yourself," conceded Elaine.

"I want never to recall those days," said John. "If I ever acted as you say, I must have been mad." He suddenly turned towards her. And all his passionate desire to protect her, the deep love he had grown to feel for her seemed in that moment to animate his face. "Elaine," he said, "promise me you'll forget it, and never think of it again?"

"Never again," answered she. She slid her arms about his neck and drew him towards her. For a minute he forgot his compact with himself. But presently his self-possession returned to him. He fell back a pace, and, lifting her hand, kissed her fingers, and once again assumed the light conversational tone.

"We are comrades now, Elaine," said he, "both working against Voules and his myrmidons." He turned and looked at the little clock on Elaine's mantelshelf. "Hallo!" he exclaimed, "I must be off; I am on duty to-night."

He felt that it was safer to go, and five minutes later he was at the door of the house.

"Remember, Elaine," he said, looking down at her in the dim little passage, "any time you want me, if Cherriton offends you in any way, ring me up at the Golden Pavilion Hotel."