“So they say,” she admitted, “but one doesn’t come into contact with it. So you are really coming back to Dreymarsh!”
“With you, if I may?”
“Naturally,” she agreed.
He glanced at the clock. “We might almost be starting for lunch,” he suggested.
She nodded. “As soon as I’ve told Grover about the luggage.”
She was absent only a few moments, and then, as it was a dry, sunny morning, they walked down St. James Street and along Pall Mall to the Carlton. Philippa met several acquaintances, but Lessingham walked with his head erect, looking neither to the right nor to the left.
“Aren’t you sometimes afraid of being recognised?” she asked him. “There must be a great many men about of your time at Magdalen, for instance?”
“Nine years makes a lot of difference,” he reminded her, “and besides, I have a theory that it is only when the eyes meet that recognition really takes place. So long as I do not look into any one’s face, I feel quite safe.”
“You are sure that you would not like to go to a smaller place than the Carlton?”
“It makes no difference,” he assured her. “My credentials have been wonderfully established for me.”
“I’m so glad,” she confessed. “I know it’s most unfashionable, but I do like these big places. If ever I had my way, I should like to live in London and have a cottage in the country, instead of living in the country and being just an hotel dweller in London.”
“I wonder if New York would not do?” he ventured.
“I expect I should like New York,” she murmured.
“I think,” he said, “in fact, I am almost sure that when I leave here I shall go to the United States.”
She looked at him and turned suddenly away. They arrived just then at their destination, and the moment passed. Lessingham left his companion in the lounge while he went back into the restaurant to secure his table and order lunch. When he came back, he found Philippa sitting very upright and with a significant glitter in her eyes.
“Look over there,” she whispered, “by the palm.”
He followed the direction which she indicated. A man was standing against one of the pillars, talking to a tall, dark woman, obviously a foreigner, wrapped in wonderful furs. There was something familiar about his figure and the slight droop of his head.
“Why, it’s Sir Henry!” Lessingham exclaimed, as the man turned around.
“My husband,” Philippa faltered.
Sir Henry, if indeed it were he, seemed afflicted with a sudden shortsightedness. He met the incredulous gaze both of Lessingham and his wife without recognition or any sign of flinching. At that distance it was impossible to see the tightening of his lips and the steely flash in his blue eyes.
“The whiting seem to have brought him a long way,” Philippa said, with an unnatural little laugh.
“Shall I go and speak to him?” Lessingham asked.
“For heaven’s sake, no!” she insisted. “Don’t leave me. I wouldn’t have him come near me for anything in the world. It is only a few weeks ago that I begged him to come to London with me, and he said that he hated the place. You don’t know—the woman?”
Lessingham shook his head.
“She looks like a foreigner,” was all he could say.
“Take me in to lunch at once,” Philippa begged, rising abruptly to her feet. “This is really the last straw.”
They passed up the stairway and within a few feet of where Sir Henry was standing. He appeared absorbed, however, in conversation with his companion, and did not even turn around. Philippa’s little face seemed to have hardened as she took her seat. Only her eyes were still unnaturally bright.
“I am so sorry if this has annoyed you,” Lessingham regretted. “You would not care to go elsewhere?”
“I? Go anywhere else?” she exclaimed scornfully. “Thank you, I am perfectly satisfied here. And with my companion,” she added, with a brilliant little smile. “Now tell me about New York. Have you ever been there?”
“Twice,” he told her. “At present the dream of my life is to go there with you.”
She looked at him a little wonderingly.
“I wonder if you really care,” she said. “Men get so much into the habit of saying that sort of thing to women. Sometimes it seems to me they must do a great deal of mischief. But you—Is that really your wish?”
“I would sacrifice everything that I have ever held dear in life,” he declared, with his face aglow, “for its realization.”
“But you would be a deserter from your country,” she pointed out. “You would never be able to return. Your estates would be confiscated. You would be homeless.”
“Home,” he said softly, “is where one’s heart takes one. Home is just where love is.”
Her eyes, as they met his, were for a moment suspiciously soft. Then she began to talk very quickly of other things, to compare notes of countries which they had both visited, even of people whom they had met. They were obliged to leave early to catch their train. As they passed down the crowded restaurant they once more found themselves within a few feet of Sir Henry. His back was turned to them, and he was apparently ignorant of their near presence. The party had become a partie Carríe, another man, and a still younger and more beautiful woman having joined it.
“Of course,” Philippa said, as they descended the stairs, “I am behaving like an idiot. I ought to go and tell Henry exactly what I think of him, or pull him away in the approved Whitechapel fashion. We lose so much, don’t we, by stifling our instincts.”
“For the next few minutes,” he replied, glancing at his watch, “I think we had better concentrate our attention upon catching our train.”
They reached King’s Cross with only a few minutes to spare. Grover, however, had already secured a carriage, and Helen was waiting for them, ensconced in a corner. She accepted the news of Lessingham’s return with resignation. Philippa became thoughtful as they drew towards the close of their journey and the slow, frosty twilight began to creep down upon the land.
“I suppose we don’t really know what war is,” she observed, looking out of the window at a comfortable little village tucked away with a background of trees and guarded by a weather-beaten old church. “The people are safe in their homes. You must appreciate what that means, Mr. Lessingham.”
“Indeed I do,” he answered gravely. “I have seen the earth torn and dismembered as though by the plough of some destroying angel. A few blackened ruins where, an hour or so before, a peaceful village stood; men and women running about like lunatics stricken with a mortal fear. And all the time a red glow on the horizon, a blood-red glow, and little specks of grey or brown lying all over the fields; even the cattle racing round in terror. And every now and then the cry of Death! You are fortunate in England.”
Philippa leaned forward.
“Do you believe that our turn will come?” she asked. “Do you believe that the wave will break over our country?”
“Who can tell?”
“Ah, no, but answer me,” she begged. “Is it possible for you to land an army here?”
“I think,” he replied, “that all things are possible to the military genius of Germany. The only question is whether it is worth while. Germans are supposed to be sentimentalists, you know. I rather doubt it. There is nothing would set the joybells of Berlin clanging so much as the news of a German invasion of Great Britain. On the other hand, there is a great party in Germany, and a very far-seeing one, which is continually reminding the Government that, without Great Britain as a market, Germany would never recover from the financial strain of the war.”
“This is all too impersonal,” Philippa objected. “Do you, in your heart, believe that the time might come when in the night we should hear the guns booming in Dreymarsh Bay, and see your grey-clad soldiers forming up on the beach and scaling our cliffs?”
“That will not be yet,” he pronounced. “It has been thought of. Once i
t was almost attempted. Just at present, no.”
Philippa drew a sigh of relief.
“Then your mission in Dreymarsh has nothing to do with an attempted landing?”
“Nothing,” he assured her. “I can even go a little further. I can tell you that if ever we do try to land, it will be in an unsuspected place, in an unexpected fashion.”
“Well, it’s really very comforting to hear these things at first-hand,” Philippa declared, with some return to her usual manner. “I suppose we are really two disgraceful women, Helen and I—traitors and all the rest of it. Here we sit talking to an enemy as though he were one of our best friends.”
“I refuse to be called an enemy,” Lessingham protested. “There are times when individuality is a far greater thing than nationality. I am just a human being, born into the same world and warmed by the same sun as you. Nothing can alter the fact that we are fellow creatures.”
“Dreymarsh once more,” Philippa announced, looking out of the window. “And you’re a terribly plausible person, Mr. Lessingham. Come round and see us after dinner—if it doesn’t interfere with your work.”
“On the contrary,” he murmured under his breath. “Thank you very much.”
CHAPTER XVIII
Table of Contents
Sir Henry was standing with his hands in his pockets and a very blank expression upon his face, looking out upon the Admiralty Square. He was alone in a large, barely furnished apartment, the walls of which were so hung with charts that it had almost the appearance of a schoolroom prepared for an advanced geography class. The table from which he had risen was covered with an amazing number of scientific appliances, some samples of rock and sand, two microscopes and several telephones.
Sir Henry, having apparently exhausted the possibilities of the outlook, turned somewhat reluctantly away to find himself confronted by an elderly gentleman of cheerful appearance, who at that moment had entered the room. From the fact that he had done so without knocking, it was obvious that he was an intimate.
“Well, my gloomy friend,” the newcomer demanded, “what’s wrong with you?”
Sir Henry was apparently relieved to see his visitor. He pushed a chair towards him and indicated with a gesture of invitation a box of cigars upon his desk.
“Your little Laranagas,” he observed. “Try one.”
The visitor opened the box, sniffed at its contents, and helped himself.
“Now, then, get at it, Henry,” he enjoined. “I’ve a Board in half-an-hour, and three dispatches to read before I go in. What’s your trouble?”
“Look here, Rayton,” was the firm reply, “I want to chuck this infernal hole-and-corner business. I tell you I’ve worked it threadbare at Dreymarsh and it’s getting jolly uncomfortable.”
The newcomer grinned.
“Poor chap!” he observed, watching his cigar smoke curl upwards. “You’re in a nasty mess, you know, Henry. Did I tell you that I had a letter from your wife the other day, asking me if I couldn’t find you a job?”
Sir Henry waited a little grimly, whilst his friend enjoyed the joke.
“That’s all very well,” he said, “but we are on the point of a separation, or something of the sort. I’ll admit it was all right at first to run the thing on the Q.T., but that’s pretty well busted up by now. Why, according to your own reports, they know all about me on the other side.”
“Not a doubt about it,” the other agreed. “I’m not sure that you haven’t got a spy fellow down at Dreymarsh now.”
“I’m quite sure of it,” Sir Henry replied grimly. “The brute was lunching with my wife at the Carlton to-day, and, as luck would have it, I was landed with that Russian Admiral’s wife and sister-in-law. You’re breaking up the happy home, that’s what you’re doing, Rayton!”
His lordship at any rate seemed to find the process amusing. He laughed until the tears stood in his eyes.
“I should love to have seen Philippa’s face,” he chuckled, “when she walked into the restaurant and saw you there! You’re supposed to be off on a fishing expedition, aren’t you?”
“I went out after whiting,” Sir Henry groaned, “and I’d just promised to chuck it for a time when I got the Admiral’s message.”
“Well, we’ll see to your German spy, anyway,” his visitor promised.
“Don’t be an ass!” Sir Henry exclaimed irritably. “I don’t want the fellow touched at present. Why, he’s been a sort of persona grata at my house. Hangs around there all the time when I’m away.”
“All the more reason for putting an end to his little game, I should say,” was the cheerful reply.
“And have the whole neighbourhood either laughing at my wife and Miss Fairclough, or talking scandal about them!” Sir Henry retorted.
“I forgot that,” his friend confessed ruminatively. “He’s a gentlemanly sort of fellow, from what I hear, but a rotten spy. What do you want done with him?”
“Leave him for me to deal with,” Sir Henry insisted. “I have a little scheme on hand in which he is concerned.”
Rayton scratched his chin doubtfully.
“The fellow may not be such a fool as he seems,” he reminded his friend.
“I won’t run any risks,” Sir Henry promised. “I just want him left there, that’s all. And look here, Rayton, you know what I want from you. I quite agreed to your proposals as to my anonymity at the time when I was up in Scotland, but the thing’s a secret no longer with the people who count. Every one in Germany knows that I’m a mine-field specialist, so I don’t see why the dickens I should pose any longer as a sort of half-baked idiot.”
Rayton’s eyes twinkled.
“You want to play the Wilson Barrett hero and make a theatrical disclosure of your greatness,” he laughed. “Poor Philippa will fall upon her knees. You will be the hero of the village, which will probably present you with some little article of plate. You’ve a good time coming, Henry.”
“Talk sense, there’s a good fellow,” the other begged. “You go and see the Chief and put it to him. There isn’t a single reason why I shouldn’t own up now.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Rayton promised, “but what about this fellow Lessingham, or whatever else he calls himself, down there? There’s a chap named Griffiths—Commandant, isn’t he?—been writing us about him.”
“I won’t have Lessingham touched,” Sir Henry insisted. “He can’t do any particular harm down there, and there isn’t a line or a drawing of mine down at Dreymarsh which he isn’t welcome to.”
Lord Rayton rose to his feet.
“Look here, Henry, old fellow,” he said, “I do sympathise with you up to a certain point. I tell you what I’ll do. I shall have to answer Philippa’s letter, and I’ll answer it in such a way that if she is as clever a little woman as I think she is, she’ll get a hint. Of course,” he went on ruminatively, “it is rather a misfortune that the Princess Ollaneff and her sister are such jolly good-looking women. Makes it look a little fishy, doesn’t it? What I mean to say is, it’s a far cry from fishing for whiting in the North Sea to lunching with a beautiful princess at the Carlton—when you think your wife’s down in Norfolk.”
Sir Henry threw open the door.
“Look here, I’ve had enough of you, Rayton,” he declared. “You get back and do an hour’s work, if you can bring your mind to it.”
The latter assumed a sudden dignity, necessitated by the sound of voices in the corridor, and departed. The door had scarcely been closed when two younger men presented themselves—Miles Ensol, Sir Henry’s secretary, a typical-looking young sailor minus his left arm; and a pale-faced, clean-shaven man of uncertain age, in civilian clothes. Sir Henry shook hands with the latter and pointed to the easy-chair which his previous visitor had just vacated.
“Welcome back again, Horridge,” he said cordially. “Miles, I’ll ring when I want you.”
“Very good, sir,” the secretary replied. “There’s a fisherman from Norfolk downstairs, when you’r
e at liberty.”
Sir Henry nodded.
“I’ll see him presently. Shut him up somewhere where he can smoke.”
The young man withdrew, carefully closing the door, around which Sir Henry, with a word of apology, arranged a screen.
“I don’t think,” he explained, “that eavesdropping extends to these premises, or that our voices could reach outside. Still, a ha’porth of prevention, eh? Have a cigar, Horridge.”
“I’m not smoking for a day or two, thank you, sir.”
“You look as though they’d put you through it,” Sir Henry remarked.
His visitor smiled.
“I’ve travelled fourteen miles in a barrel,” he said, “and we were out for twenty-four hours in a Danish sailing skiff. You know what the weather’s been like in the North Sea. Before that, the last word of writing I saw on German soil was a placard, offering a reward of five thousand marks for my detention, with a disgustingly lifelike photograph at the top. I had about fifty yards of quay to walk in broad daylight, and every other man I passed turned to stare after me. It gives you the cold shivers down your back when you daren’t look round to see if you’re being followed.”
Sir Henry groped in the cupboard of his desk, and produced a bottle of whisky and a syphon of soda water. His visitor nodded approvingly.
“I’ve touched nothing until I’ve reached what I consider sanctuary,” he observed. “My nerves have gone rotten for the first time in my life. Do you mind, sir, if I lock the door?”
“Go ahead,” Sir Henry assented.
He brought the whisky and soda himself across the room. Horridge resumed his seat and held out his hand almost eagerly. For a moment or two he shook as though he had an ague. Then, just as suddenly as it had come upon him, the fit passed. He drained the contents of the tumbler at a gulp, set it down empty by his side, and stretched out his hand for a cigar.
“The end of my journey didn’t help matters any,” he went on. “I daren’t even make for a Dutch port, and we were picked up eventually by a tramp steamer from Newcastle to London with coals. I hadn’t been on board more than an hour before a submarine which had been following overhauled us. I thought it was all up then, but the fog lifted, and we found ourselves almost in the midst of a squadron of destroyers from Harwich. I made another transfer, and they landed me in time to catch the early morning train from Felixstowe.”
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