The Bomb-Makers

by William Le Queux

turningto him with a smile of sweet affection.

  In the days that followed, the mystery of the intruder became furtherincreased by Ella making another discovery. In the garden, upon athorn-bush against the wall, Mrs Pennington found a large piece ofcream silk which had apparently formed part of the sleeve of a woman'sblouse. She brought it to Ella, saying:

  "I've found this in the garden, miss. It looks as if some lady gotentangled in the bush, and left part of 'er blouse behind--don't it? Iwonder who's been in our garden?"

  Ella took it and, expressing little surprise, suggested that it mighthave been blown into the bush by the wind.

  It, however, at once confirmed her suspicion that the midnight visitorhad been a woman.

  While Ella sang and danced nightly at the theatre, and afterwards drovehome to Castelnau, to that house where upstairs was stored all thathigh-explosive, Seymour Kennedy maintained a watchful vigilance uponErnst von Ortmann, the chief of enemy spies, and kept that unceasingwatch over him, not only at the house at Wandsworth, but also at themagnificent mansion in Park Lane.

  To von Ortmann's frequent dinner-parties in the West End came the craftyand grave-faced old Drost, who there met other men of mysteriousantecedents, adventurers who posed as Swiss, American, or Dutch, forthat house was the headquarters of enemy activity in Great Britain, andfrom it extended many extraordinary and unexpected ramifications.

  That some great and desperate outrage was intended in the near futureKennedy was confident, as all the apparatus was ready. But of Drost'sintentions he could discover nothing, neither could Ella.

  One cold night, while loitering in the darkness beside the railings ofthe Park, Kennedy saw Ortmann emerge from the big portico of his houseand walk to Hyde Park Corner, where he hailed a taxi and drove downGrosvenor Gardens. Within a few moments Kennedy was in another taxiclosely following.

  They crossed Westminster Bridge and turned to the right, in thedirection of Vauxhall. Then, on arriving at Clapham Junction station,Kennedy, discerning Ortmann's destination to be the house in Park Road,Wandsworth Common, where at times he lived as the humble Mr Horton, theretired tradesman, he dismissed his taxi and walked the remainder of thedistance.

  When he arrived before the house, he saw a light in Horton's room, andhardly had he halted opposite ere the figure of a man in a blackovercoat and soft felt hat came along and ascended the steps to thedoor.

  It was the so-called Dutch pastor, Theodore Drost.

  The latter had not been admitted more than five minutes when anothervisitor, a short, thick-set bearded man, having the appearance of aworkman, probably an engineer, passed by, hesitated, looked at the houseinquiringly, and then went up the steps and rang the bell.

  He also quickly gained admission, and therefore it seemed plain that aconference was being held there that night.

  The bearded man was a complete stranger, hence Kennedy resolved tofollow him when he reappeared, and try to establish his identity. Beingknown to Drost and Ortmann, it was always both difficult and dangerousfor him to follow either too closely. But with a stranger it wasdifferent.

  Before twenty-four hours had passed, the Flight-Commander hadascertained a number of interesting facts. The bearded man was known asArthur Cole, and was an electrician employed at one of the CountyCouncil power-stations. He lived in Tenison Street, close to WaterlooStation, and was a widower.

  Next day, on making further inquiry of shops in the vicinity, a womanwho kept a newspaper-shop exclaimed:

  "I may be mistaken, sir, but I don't believe much in that there MrCole."

  "Why?" asked Kennedy quickly.

  "Well, 'e's lived 'ere some years, you know, and before the war I usedto order for 'im a German newspaper--the Berliner-Something."

  "The _Berliner-Tageblatt_ it was, I expect."

  "Yes. That's the paper, sir," said the woman. "'E used to be very fondof it, till I couldn't get it any more."

  "Then he may be German?"

  The woman bent over the narrow counter of her small establishment andwhispered:

  "I'm quite certain 'e is, sir."

  That night Seymour saw his well-beloved in the theatre between the acts,and told her the result of his inquiries. Then he returned to his vigiland watched the dingy house in Tenison Street, one of those drab Londonstreets in which the sun never seems to shine.

  For three nights Kennedy remained upon constant vigil. On the fourthnight, just as Ella was throwing off her stage dress at the conclusionof the show, she received a telegram which said: "Gone north. Returnsoon. Wait."

  It was unsigned, but she knew its sender.

  Four days she waited in eager expectation of receiving news. On thefifth night, just before she left for the theatre, Ortmann arrived tovisit her father. She greeted him merrily, but quickly escaped fromthat detestable atmosphere of conspiracy, at the same time rememberingthat mysterious female intruder.

  Who could she have been?

  In the meantime Seymour Kennedy, who had obtained a few days' leave, hadbeen living at the Central Hotel in that busy Lancashire town which musthere be known as G--. To that town he had followed the man Cole and hadconstantly watched his movements. Cole had taken up his quarters at amodest temperance hotel quite close to the Central, which was the bigrailway terminus, and had been daily active, and had made severaljourneys to places in the immediate manufacturing outskirts of G--.

  At last he packed his modest Gladstone bag and returned to London,Kennedy, in an old tweed suit, travelling by the same train.

  On their arrival Kennedy took a taxi direct from Euston to the theatre.

  When Ella had sent her dresser out of the room upon an errand, hehurriedly related what had occurred.

  The man Cole had, he explained, met in G--a thin-faced, dark-hairedyoung woman, apparently of his own social standing, a young woman of theworking-class, who wore a brass war-badge in the shape of a triangle.The pair had been in each other's company constantly, and had been twiceout to a manufacturing centre about six miles away, a place known asRivertown.

  Briefly he related what he had observed and what he had discovered.Then he went out while she dressed, eventually driving with her to asnug little restaurant off Oxford Street, where they supped together.

  "Do you know, Ella," he asked in a low voice, as they sat in a corner,"now that we've established the fact that the man Cole has visited yourfather, and also that he is undoubtedly implicated in the forthcomingplot, can it be that this young woman whom he met in G--is the same whoentered your father's house on the night of my visit there?"

  "I wonder!" she exclaimed. "Why should she go there?"

  "Out of curiosity, perhaps. Who knows? She's evidently on friendlyterms with this electrician. Cole, who, if my information is correct,is no Englishman at all--but a German!"

  Ella reflected deeply. Then she answered:

  "Perhaps both the man and woman came there for the purpose either ofrobbery--or--"

  "No. They were probably suspicious of your father's manner, and came toexamine the house."

  "But if they did not trust my father surely they would not be in activeassociation with him, as you say they are," the girl argued.

  "True. But they might, nevertheless, have had their curiosity aroused."

  "And by so doing they may have seen us," she declared apprehensively."I hope not."

  "And even if they did, they surely would not recognise us again," heexclaimed. "But," he added, "no time must be lost. You must takeanother brief holiday from the theatre, and see what we can do."

  "Very well," was the dancer's reply. "I'll see Mr Pettigrew to-morrow,and get a rest. It will give my understudy a chance."

  Over a fortnight went by.

  It was half-past five o'clock on a cold January evening when a trainfulof merry-faced girl munition workers stood at the Central Station at G--ready to start out to Rivertown to work on the night shift in those hugeroaring factories where the big shells were being made.

  Each
girl wore a serviceable raincoat and close-fitting little hat, eachcarried a small leather attache-case with her comb, mirror, and otherlittle feminine toilet requisites, and each wore upon her blouse thebrass triangle which denoted that she was a worker on munitions.

  Peering out from the window of one of those dingy third-classcompartments was a young girl in a rather faded felt hat and a cheapnavy-blue coat, while upon the platform, apparently taking notice ofnobody, stood a tallish young man in a brown overcoat. Themunition-girl was Ella Drost, and the man her lover, Seymour Kennedy.

  As the train at last moved out across the long bridge over the river,the pair exchanged glances, and then Ella, with her brass triangle onher blouse, sat back in the crowded carriage in thought, her littleattache-case upon her knees, listening to the merry chat of