She told me, in answer to my questions, how she had fared after I left “The Nook”; how dismal the place had appeared, and how many bitter memories it would always possess for her. Then, in response to her suggestion, we walked out upon the balcony, where, under the striped awning, a table and chairs were set. Here, in the cool night air, the quiet only broken by an occasional footfall or the tinkle of a passing cab-bell, we sipped our coffee and gossiped on as lovers will.
Suddenly, while she was telling me of the plans her mother had prepared for their sojourn for a couple of months at the seaside, the loud, strident cry of a running newsman broke upon our ears. At first, in the distance, the voice did not attract our attention, but when it neared us, the words, hoarse, yet indistinct, held me speechless. I sat stunned.
Ella herself sprang from her chair, and leaned over the balcony, straining her ears to catch every sound of the rough, coarse voice. The man had paused for breath before the house, a bundle of papers across his shoulder, and the ominous words he shouted were, —
“Extra spe-shall! Probable war against England! Spe-shall! War against England! Startling statement! Spe-shall!”
Chapter Eleven
Beck’s Prophecy
“Hark!” gasped Ella, turning to me, pale in alarm. “What is that man crying? Listen!”
Again the hoarse voice broke the silence, dear, distinct, ominous, —
“War against England! Spe-shall!” his cry being followed by the sound of hurrying feet as people rushed from their houses, purchased copies of the paper at exorbitant prices, and eagerly devoured the amazing news.
“Surely it must be some absurd story that the papers have got hold of,” Ella exclaimed a few moments later, when, after again watching the excitement below, she returned and stood beside my chair. “The idea of war against us is absolutely absurd. You Foreign Office people would have known if such were actually the case. Evening papers are so often full of exaggerated reports, contradicted next morning, that one ceases to believe in them.”
“I have every reason, unfortunately, to believe in the truth of this sudden probability of war,” I answered gloomily, scarce knowing what I said.
“You believe it’s true!” she cried. “How do you know? Will Russia actually dare to challenge us?”
“Yes,” I replied. “But how were you aware that Russia was our enemy?”
She started and held her breath. Her attitude was that of one who had unconsciously betrayed herself.
“I – I – merely guessed it,” she answered lamely, with a forced smile a moment later. “I’ve been reading the papers lately.”
“The papers have given no hint of any impending complication,” I answered abruptly, removing the cigarette from my lips and looking up at her keenly.
“But I read something the other day which stated that Russia and France had combined with the object of attacking England in the near future.”
I did not answer. I could only gaze at her, amazed at the calm, circumstantial manner in which she lied. That she had some knowledge of the political situation – of what character or extent I knew not – was certain, for other words she had let drop in unguarded moments had once or twice aroused within me increasing suspicion. When I reflected upon her alarm on hearing the strident cry of the newsman, I was compelled to admit that her fears were not genuine. The questions she put to me regarding the relative strengths of England and Russia, and the probable course of events, were naïve enough, but they were uttered, I knew, with a view to disarm any suspicion I might entertain.
At last, wearied of her eternal masquerade, I roused myself, tossed away my dead cigarette, and, declaring that in the circumstances my presence at the Foreign Office was imperative, suddenly said, —
“You asked me to come here this evening because you had something particular to say to me, Ella. You have not yet referred to it.”
“I wanted to ask you a question,” she exclaimed in a low tone, slowly moving towards me and bending until she placed her arm tenderly around my neck.
“Well, what is it?”
For a moment she remained silent in hesitation, but at last spoke in that harsh, strained voice that had so frequently puzzled me of late.
“I know you have investigated Dudley’s belongings,” she said. “And I wanted to know whether you discovered among them some scraps of paper bearing imitations of your own handwriting.”
I regarded her in surprise; her question amazed me. In her eyes I noticed a look of intense earnestness and appeal for sympathy.
“Well, what if I have?” I inquired.
“If you have, they will, I know, be regarded by you as evidence that Dudley was a forger.”
“That is what I believe him to have been,” I said with bitterness.
“You judge him wrongly,” she replied quite calmly, her face nevertheless as white as the simple-made dinner gown she wore. “I have already seen those papers, and know their authorship.”
“Did not Dudley trace my writing?”
“He never did,” she replied. “As his death was encompassed by his enemies, so is dishonour cast upon his memory.”
“Then you allege that he was the victim of conspiracy!” I exclaimed, surprised.
“No doubt. When I am at last free to speak I shall prove it, and by so doing remove from myself the suspicion now resting upon me.” She spoke earnestly, with an intense ring in her voice that told me she now uttered the truth.
“For what reason was it desired to imitate my handwriting?” I asked, pressing her hand tenderly. “Come, tell me, Ella.”
“I really don’t know,” she replied. “All I am aware is that your writing was most carefully traced and imitated, and for that purpose two of your letters to me were stolen.”
“By whom?”
“I have never been able to discover.”
At that moment our conversation was interrupted by a voice crying, “Here, Deedes! Have you seen this alarming news?” and turning I saw Beck standing beside the tall, amber-shaded lamp in the drawing-room, a pale pink news-sheet in his hand. Rising quickly I re-entered the room, and walking over to him, followed by Ella, took the newspaper, and devoured the dozen lines of leaded type placed beneath the bold, alarming head-lines.
My well-beloved was peering over my shoulder as, in breathless eagerness, I read that, according to Reuter’s correspondent at St Petersburg, the Novoë Vremya had that afternoon issued a special edition containing the amazing statement that Russia would, in the course of a few hours, formally declare war against England, and that this fact was corroborated by the issue of telegraphic orders to the commanders of military districts as a preliminary to a general mobilisation of the forces. This announcement was similar to that of our secret agent in St Petersburg, with the additional facts that the greatest activity had commenced in the War Office and Admiralty, and that the Tzar had, in consequence, abandoned his visit to Odessa, which he was about to undertake that day.
“The outlook is certainly most alarming,” I observed, handing on the paper to Ella.
“It’s extraordinary!” cried Beck, intensely excited, as became a patriotic legislator. “We have not had the slightest inkling of any diplomatic deadlock, or any disagreement with Russia. The whole thing is absolutely amazing.”
“But what will happen?” asked Ella, eagerly, with white, scared face. “Will England be invaded and battles fought here in the manner prophetic writers have foretold?”
“I fear so,” I said despondently. “If war is really declared, a conflict must very soon occur, and the struggle will then be long and deadly.”
“But surely the Government will not allow an enemy to land upon English soil,” she exclaimed, still holding the paper in her trembling hands. “What are ambassadors for but to avert such catastrophes as this?”
“Ambassadors,” exclaimed Beck, “appear to me to be useless pawns. Surely our Embassy at St Petersburg must have been asleep not to have given the Government warning of the plans of Russia long ago. Preparations for war against a power like England are not made without very careful deliberation.”
“But can we be invaded?” I queried.
“No doubt,” Beck replied promptly. “The opinions of our greatest strategists are unanimous that, under certain conditions, France and Russia combined could invade our island. It is all very well for people to talk about England’s maritime power; but is it what we believe it to be? I think not.”
Having made a deep study of this very question, I was, although a loyal and patriotic Englishman, compelled to agree with him in a certain measure. Once, not so very long ago, it was generally believed, even by our greatest military and naval experts, that should England become engaged with a first-rate foreign Power, she could, single-handed, in a week close every one of her enemy’s ports and have a fleet ready to reduce at its leisure everything he held beyond the seas. Indeed, some authorities went so far as to declare that with almost any two Powers against her, she could do as much; and it was that recognition of this power abroad that gave England, in spite of her military weakness, so commanding a position in Europe. But since the Franco-Russian Alliance the increase in the fleets of the Powers had been so rapid that we had utterly failed to keep pace with them. We built huge, unwieldy battleships, while our enemies constructed the fastest cruisers and torpedo-boat destroyers afloat, thereby sweeping away our hitherto undisputed mastery of the sea.
“The great danger that appears to me,” Beck said presently, after we had been discussing the serious outlook at considerable length, “is that we may be blockaded by these two hostile powers, so as to reduce us near starvation, and compel us to surrender.”
“But not before we have engaged the enemy at sea and given them a taste of the lion’s paw,” I observed.
“Of course. First, we must expect a great naval battle or battles, followed by a dash upon our territory and the landing of the hostile armies. If England received one serious reverse at sea, she could never recover from it. The loss of her maritime power would paralyse her.”
“I know,” I said. “That argument is trite enough. But I, nevertheless, believe that England is still, and will be for many centuries to come, Queen of the Sea.”
“Oh! yes,” he said, rather contemptuously. “The cheap, clap-trap patriotism of the pot-house and the music-hall is all very well, but we, in the House of Commons, entertain a very different opinion. The belief in England’s greatness held by the lower classes is admirable, and, of course, ought to be carefully fostered, because it leads men to enlist in the Services. But you know, as well as I do, that in the Government Departments our naval strength is regarded as over-estimated in comparison with the power of some other European nations, and our military strength utterly inadequate. If it is really true that Russia is about to declare war against us, I fear the awakening of those confident of our insular security will be a terrible one.”
“Terrible no doubt it will be, on account of the fearful loss of life and property such a war must entail, but I anticipate that when the struggle comes every Englishman will bear arms for the defence of his home and loved ones, and that the foreign invader will meet with a reception the warmth of which he never expected.”
“Geoffrey is a patriot,” exclaimed Ella, laughing. “So am I. I don’t believe Russia and France will ever dare to land soldiers on our coasts.”
“Well spoken,” I exclaimed. “I do not share the fears of these so-called experts.”
“I do,” Beck went on excitedly. “If hostilities occur our defences will soon be found weak and utterly unreliable. That’s my opinion.”
“Then you declare that England is great no longer,” I observed, with a smile.
“No, I don’t go so far as that; but I contend, as I did in my speech in the House a fortnight ago, that those charged with maintaining our defences in a proper state of efficiency have for years been culpably negligent. The power of England to-day is still the same as it has been – on paper. But, in ascertaining it, we always close our eyes wilfully to the true fact that other nations have awakened during the past ten years, and have now actually overtaken us.”
“I don’t think that,” I answered. “Until our country is actually invested I shall still believe in its strength.”
But Beck, greatly to the amusement of Ella, was firm in his opinions, and, when I argued with him, commenced to quote statistics with a glibness which told how carefully he had studied the speech he recently delivered before the House, a speech which, by the way, had been dismissed in one line by all the newspapers. Ella, standing beside me in her pale cream dress, girdled narrow with a band of mauve silk, looked charming, and supported me in all my views, exhibiting a knowledge of politics and of the Continental outlook that I had not in the least suspected. Indeed, she now and then attacked the arguments of the member for West Rutlandshire with a vehemence that surprised me, for more than once she completely upset his declarations by citing some fact he had overlooked.
Even while we discussed these things we knew how wildly-excited must be the seething world of London. The news, although, alas! not fresh to me, had fallen that night upon the metropolis like a thunderbolt. Mrs Laing, who presently entered the room, was shown the paper by Ella, and was utterly unnerved by the startling intelligence. I had noticed that she had never since been the same stately, composed woman as before the discovery of Dudley. The tragic affair at “The Nook” seemed to have upset her, and in her face there were now traces of extreme nervousness and excitability.
“Surely the paper has printed an unwarrantable untruth, Mr Beck,” she exclaimed, after reading the statement by the aid of her glasses. “I really can’t believe it.”
“I scarcely think we ought to credit it before we receive some confirmation,” the burly legislator replied. “It may, of course, be a mere idle rumour set afloat for Stock Exchange purposes.”
At that moment they exchanged swift, mysterious glances that somehow appeared to me significant, yet next instant I found myself convinced that the unusual expression in their eyes had merely been due to a chimera of my own imagination. With a foolish disregard for probability, I seemed somehow to scent mystery in everything, and it now occurred to me that to successfully probe the truth of Ella’s relations with the two men, I must never allow myself to be misled by misconstruing words or actions. I felt almost confident that I had noticed Beck and Mrs Laing exchange looks akin to approbation; nevertheless, on reflection, I convinced myself that I had been quite mistaken, and half an hour later laughed at my suspicions.
Presently Beck announced his intention of going down to the House to ascertain the latest official news, and I, bidding Ella and her mother farewell, accompanied him. It was about eleven o’clock when we drove up, but the cab could not get much further than Broad Sanctuary, so dense was the crowd that had gathered at St Stephen’s on the startling news being spread. From the high summit of Big Ben the electric light was streaming westward, showing the excited thousands assembled there that Parliament was already deliberating upon the best course to pursue on the outbreak of hostilities, and as we elbowed our way through the turbulent concourse war was on everyone’s tongue. Men and women of all classes of society, wildly-excited, with pale, scared faces, discussed the probable course of events; many sang patriotic songs, the choruses of which were taken up and shouted lustily, while here and there, as we proceeded, loud invectives against the Tzar and his French allies greeted our ears.
At last we reached St Stephen’s Hall, and, passing its zealously-guarded portals, hurried forward to the Lobby. Here the scene was of a most exciting character. Members were standing in small groups, eagerly discussing the serious and unexpected turn affairs had taken, and, in answer to our inquiries, we learnt that a quarter of an hour before an official reply had been given in the House to a question addressed from the Opposition benches, admitting that, according to the latest advices from St Petersburg, there was, no doubt, foundation for the rumour published by the Novoë Vremya, and that it was very probable that in the course of an hour or two war would formally be declared.
A tiresome topic was being discussed in the House, but it was being carried on without spirit or enthusiasm, all the members being on tiptoe with expectation regarding the next telegram from the enemy’s camp. The amazing intelligence that had spread like wildfire throughout the metropolis had brought every member in town down to the House, until the Lobby became so thronged that locomotion was difficult. I chatted with many legislators I knew, and found all held similar views – that an attempted invasion of England had been planned by France and Russia. The Cabinet had been hastily summoned, and was at that moment deliberating with the Commander-in-Chief regarding the immediate steps to be taken for the complete mobilisation of the forces.
One fact had impressed itself upon me as, accompanied by Beck, I had struggled through the ever-increasing crowd outside, namely, the intense patriotism of the Volunteers. There were dozens who, on hearing the news, had at once put on their uniforms in readiness to bear their part in the defence of their homes, and everywhere as they swayed to and fro in the crowd they were lustily cheered. The sight of a uniform in those wild moments was sufficient to send the multitude half mad with enthusiasm, and in one or two instances volunteers had been raised shoulder-high in order that all should unite in giving them ovations.
Within the sombre, smoke-blackened walls of Parliament it was a breathless period of eager waiting. There was no cheering, there was no cheap patriotism, no outburst of enthusiasm. Some of the little knots of white-hatted politicians condemned the Government unmercifully for failing to obtain news of a pending catastrophe which might have been avoided by diplomacy, while others declared that the action of the Opposition in the past was alone responsible for the present disaster. Wherever I went I found an opinion, almost unanimous, that England could not withstand the blow now threatened. In that time of wild theories and wilder apprehensions Beck’s arguments and prophetic utterances were listened to eagerly, until quite a crowd stood around him. Of late he had written one or two articles on the subject of England’s unpreparedness for war, notably one in the Nineteenth Century, which had attracted considerable attention, and his opinions were now listened to and afterwards discussed, even among men whose names were household words.
As I stood watching and listening, I was compelled to admit that during the short time my friend had been in Parliament he had certainly won good opinions, and even among the most level-headed politicians his views, notwithstanding his blustering manner, were regarded as worthy of serious consideration. I confess to having previously looked upon him rather as a crank upon this subject, but I did so no longer, now that I recognised what weight his arguments carried.
Chapter Twelve
An Important Dispatch
Half an hour later I stood at the door of the small post-office in the Lobby, after discussing the situation with that most cheery and courteous of officials, Mr Pike, the postmaster, who had left me for a moment to give some instructions to his subordinates. My mind was filled by gloomy thoughts, as I reflected that all this national terror and excitement had been produced by the dastardly and almost miraculous ingenuity of some unknown person.
But was he unknown? Was it not more than probable that the person to whom all this was due was Dudley Ogle, the man who lay lifeless without a single sorrowing friend to follow his body to the grave? Sometimes I felt entirely convinced of this: at others I doubted it. If Ella spoke the truth, as it now appeared, then it was plain that Dudley had been the victim of a terribly cruel and crafty conspiracy that culminated in his death. Might not this be so, I argued within myself. Yet the words and actions of Ella were all so remarkable, so veiled by an impenetrable mystery, that any endeavour to elucidate her reasons only puzzled me the more, driving me almost to the verge of madness.
Truth to tell, I loved her with a fond, passionate love, and had, only after months of trepidation and uncertainty, succeeded in obtaining her declaration that she reciprocated my affection, and her promise to be my wife. Yet within a month of my new-born life in happiness supreme, all these untoward events had, alas! occurred, stifling my joy, replacing confidence by doubt, and driving me to despair.
While I stood there alone, Lord Warnham hastily approached the post-office window with a telegram, and, seeing me, exclaimed, —
“Ah! I want you, Deedes. An hour ago I sent telegrams everywhere for you. Come with me to my room.”
He handed in his telegram, and together we went along the corridors to his own private room, where, in an armchair, with some papers in his hand, sat the Marquis of Maybury, Prime Minister of England. We had met before many times when the burly, elderly peer had been a guest at Warnham Hall, and on many occasions I had acted as his secretary when he had been alone.
“Well, Deedes,” he exclaimed gravely, looking up suddenly from the papers, “Lord Warnham has explained to me the mysterious theft of the secret convention, and I am anxious to see you regarding it.”
The Foreign Minister seated himself at his table in silence, with folded arms, as the world-renowned statesman proceeded to question me closely regarding the events of that memorable day when the document had been so ingeniously stolen.
“Have you not the slightest clue to the culprit, even now?” Lord Maybury asked at last, stroking his full grey beard. “Remember that England’s honour and her future depends absolutely upon the issue of this serious complication. If you can furnish us with any information, it is just possible that diplomacy may do something, even at the eleventh hour. You see we have lost the original of the convention, and this, if produced in Petersburg, is sufficient evidence against us to upset all our protestations.”
“I have told Lord Warnham all I know,” I answered calmly. “To him I have explained my suspicions.”
“That this friend of yours called Ogle, who died mysteriously on that very same day, was the actual spy,” he observed. “Some of the facts certainly point to such a conclusion; but, now tell me, did Ogle enter your room at the Foreign Office on that day?”
“Certainly not,” I replied. “No one is allowed in my room except the clerks.”
“Could he have seen the envelope sticking out of your pocket?”
“No,” I answered. “I am confident he could not, because, on placing it in my pocket, a deep one, I took precaution to notice whether it were visible.”
“Then, if such is the case, I maintain that Ogle could not possibly have known what designation you had written upon the envelope,” the Premier observed; adding, “Did you meet anyone you knew during your walk to the Ship, or while you were in Ogle’s company?”
“No one whatever,” I said.
“I know the Ship. At which table did you sit?”
“At the first table on the left, in the inner room beyond the bar. I sat in the corner, with my back to a high partition. Therefore, the envelope could not possibly have been extracted from my pocket without my knowledge.”
“Then I should like to hear your theory of the affair,” said the Prime Minister, his dark, penetrating eyes fixed upon me.
“It is so remarkable,” I answered, “that I am utterly unable to form any idea how the theft was accomplished.”
“You believe, however, that Ogle was a spy?”
“At present, yes,” I said. “And further, I have grave suspicions that he was murdered.”
“Ah, that was alleged at the inquest,” his Lordship observed. “At present the police are sparing no effort to determine the cause of his death, and to find out who manufactured the duplicate of Lord Warnham’s seal.”
“The seal I picked up from among the contents of Ogle’s pockets was not the identical one used to secure the dummy envelope,” I said quickly.
“I am fully aware of all the facts,” he answered rather coldly. “My desire is to find out something fresh. Even the police seem utterly baffled. Who is this young woman, Ella Laing, who at the inquest alleged murder?”
“The daughter of Mrs Laing, of Pont Street.”
“Do you know her intimately?”
“She is engaged to be married to me,” I replied.
“It is apparent that she was very friendly with this Ogle. Surely you can induce her to tell you something about him.”
“She knows but little more than what I already know. He lived with me at Shepperton, and had few secrets from me.”
“Did you ever suspect him to be a spy?”
“Not for one moment. He had plenty of money of his own, and was in no sense an adventurer.”
“Well,” exclaimed the Premier, turning to his colleague at last. “It is extraordinary – most extraordinary.”
Lord Warnham nodded acquiescence, and said, “Yes, there is a deep and extraordinary mystery somewhere: a mystery we must, for the sake of our own honour, penetrate and elucidate.”
“I entirely agree,” answered the other. “We have been victimised by clever spies.”
“And all owing to Deedes’s culpable negligence,” added Lord Warnham, testily, glancing at me.
“No, I am inclined to differ,” exclaimed the Premier. He had never acted very generously towards me, and I was surprised that he should at this moment take up the cudgels on my behalf. “To me it appears, as far as the facts go, that Deedes has been victimised in the same manner as ourselves.”
“But if he had exercised due caution this terrible catastrophe could never have occurred,” the Foreign Minister cried impatiently, tapping the table with his pen in emphasis of his words.
“A little more than mere caution, or even shrewdness, is required to defeat the efforts of the Tzar’s spies,” the Premier said quietly. “In my opinion, Deedes, although in a measure under suspicion, cannot be actually condemned. Remember, among Ogle’s correspondence he discovered evidence of an undoubted attempt to forge his handwriting.”
“We have no corroboration that he really did find that actually among the dead man’s possessions,” exclaimed Lord Warnham quickly. “I have myself seen the detective who accompanied him to Shepperton, and he tells me that no sheets of paper of that character were discovered. He – ”
“I found them while he was engaged in an adjoining room,” I interrupted. “I did not mention it to him, preferring to bring the evidence straight to you.”
“It is just possible that Deedes’s version is correct,” observed the Premier. “Personally, I must say, Warnham, that I cannot see any ground for the dismissal of a hitherto trustworthy servant of Her Majesty upon this extraordinary evidence. I have always found Deedes upright, loyal and patriotic, and coming as he does of a well-known family of diplomats, I really do not suspect him of having played his country false.”
“I am obliged for your Lordship’s words,” I exclaimed fervently. “I assure you that your merciful view is entirely correct. I am innocent, and at this moment am utterly at a loss to account for any of the amazing events of the past few days.”
Lord Warnham was silent in thought for a few moments, then, turning his sphinx-like face to me, he said, in a tone rather more conciliatory than before, “Very well. As it is Lord Maybury’s wish, I will reinstate you in the Service; but remember, I have no confidence in you.”
“Then you still suspect me of being a spy?” I cried reproachfully. “I am to remain under suspicion!”
“Exactly,” he answered dryly. “Until the truth is ascertained I, at least, shall believe you had something to do with the theft of that secret convention. Even the telegram sent from the Strand Post-Office to St Petersburg is in your handwriting – ”
“Forged!” I interposed. “Have you not already seen the careful attempts made to copy the formation of my letters and figures?”
“The greatest calligraphic expert of the day has pronounced the telegram to be undoubtedly in your own hand, while the counter-clerk who took in the message and received payment for it, has seen you surreptitiously, and recognised you by the shape of the silk hat you habitually wear.”
Here was an astounding case of mistaken identity. I had never entered the post-office near Exeter Hall for six months at least.
“I should like to meet that clerk face to face,” I burst forth. “He tells a distinct falsehood when he says he recognises me. I did not go into the Strand at all on that day.” Then a thought suddenly occurred to me when I reflected upon the shape of my hat, and I added, “I admit that my hat is of a rather unusual shape,” taking it up and exhibiting it to them. “But when I bought this in Piccadilly two months ago Ogle was with me, and he purchased one exactly similar.”
“Again the evidence is against the dead man,” the Premier said, turning to Lord Warnham. “Where is his hat?” he inquired of me sharply.
“At Shepperton. I can produce it if required. Its shape is exactly like mine.”
“You had better speak to Frayling upon that point,” observed Lord Warnham. “It may prove important. At any rate, Deedes, perhaps, after all, I have been just a trifle unjust in condemning you, therefore consider yourself reinstated in the same position as before, although I must admit that my previous confidence in your integrity is, to say the least, seriously – very seriously – impaired.”
“I hope it will not remain so long,” I said. “If there is anything I can do to restore your belief in my honesty, I will do it at whatever cost.”
“There is but one thing,” he exclaimed. “Discover the identity of the spy.”
“I will regard that the one endeavour of my life,” I declared earnestly. “If the mystery is to be fathomed I will accomplish it.”