Letters For A Spy

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  He nodded. ‘I didn’t. But pray continue with this particular story, which I must confess I find fascinating. The female, Mrs. Wood seemed interested — who else?’

  She, hesitated. ‘Well — you, of course. And then there was the pedlar. But you tell me that you heard what passed between us, so there is no point in repeating that.’

  ‘I collect that you are trying to make me believe it’s pure coincidence that you should be on your way to Crowle Manor at this particular time?’

  ‘How very quickly you do seize on a notion!’ retorted Elizabeth in ironic admiration. ‘Only I am not trying to make you believe anything, indeed, I can’t think why I should put myself to so much trouble. I am merely stating what is a fact.’

  ‘And no doubt you are also quite ready to state as a fact that you have positively no knowledge of a packet which was to be delivered to someone staying here at the White Hart?’ asked Farnham, with a contemptuous smile.

  She hesitated, and he was quick to press home his advantage.

  ‘Ah, I see you do,’ he exclaimed, in satisfaction. ‘Don’t trouble to deny it. Your face is not yet sufficiently schooled for the part you have to play — you would make a bad card-player, Miss Thorne. Is it still Miss Thorne, I wonder? Or have you succeeded in deluding some other man into lending you the shelter of his name?’

  ‘I am beginning to think,’ retorted Elizabeth, with a cool smile, ‘that you should be writing stories and not I. You have by far the stronger imagination.’

  ‘Very well, ma’am. But let’s not waste any more time. I collect that you have the papers I require, so hand them over.’

  ‘Supposing I were in possession of this packet you seem so anxious to obtain,’ said Elizabeth in a calm tone, ‘can you give me any good reason why I should hand it over to you?’

  ‘I infer from that remark that you expect payment for delivery,’ he replied, contemptuously. ‘Well, you’ll catch cold at that. Let me remind you that I can take it by force, and afterwards hand you over to the law.’

  ‘The law? Then it is — it must be contraband!’ exclaimed Elizabeth, almost to herself. ‘And you must be a Customs officer — unlikely as it seems.’

  He gave her a withering glance. ‘Are you still determined to play act? B’God, I’ve had enough of this! Hand over that packet immediately, or I take it by force.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean by play acting,’ she replied, slowly. ‘But it’s difficult to know what I ought to do. You see, the letter is directed to someone else — to someone at Crowle Manor. It doesn’t seem right to hand it to any other person, but, of course, if you represent the law in some sort—’

  He ignored this.

  ‘Where is it?’ he demanded, almost fiercely.

  She shrank back instinctively before his rough tone, then pulled herself together with an effort, and rose to her feet.

  ‘I have it here,’ she said, crossing over to the closet.

  He followed close on her heels, and watched with narrowed eyes as she pulled out a valise and rummaged inside it. After a moment, she produced a small leather wallet which she unfastened, revealing a quantity of writing-paper and two quill pens in a holder. There were some pockets on one side of the wallet, and she inserted her hand into one of these.

  She turned to the man with a look of distress as she brought her hand out empty.

  ‘It’s gone!’ she gasped. ‘The letter’s vanished!’

  Chapter 11

  DOUBT

  Robert Farnham was a man who normally knew his own mind, but he left Miss Thorne’s room that night in some uncertainty. Either she was a most accomplished actress, or else she had been genuinely surprised when she had failed to find the packet which was important to so many people. He had been able to dismiss the rest of her behaviour, her incredulity and protestations of innocence, as a pitiful charade which was an insult to his intelligence; but the expression on her face when she had vainly searched her letter-case had carried more conviction than all the rest of her performance put together.

  He could not remember any hint of a talent for acting or, indeed, duplicity of any kind from his acquaintance with her in the past. But how well had he known her, after all? Two months was scarcely long enough for a young man to understand a female’s character; particularly not when he was fool enough, thought Farnham bitterly, to fall head over ears in love with her before a week was out. According to his present information, she was now as corrupt as any woman could well be. Either she had changed drastically in the past six years, or else he had always been mistaken in her.

  Nevertheless, there was some puzzling elements in this affair. He knew that those who brought the packet from London had been instructed to hand it over to a courier who would be waiting at the White Hart to carry it on the final stage of its journey. Careful investigation had shown him that this courier must be Potts the bagman; yet Miss Thorne had not handed the packet to Potts, as Farnham had good reason to know. Why had she not done so? Because she was bound for Crowle Manor herself? And if it had been known by those in authority over her that she was going to Crowle Manor why had she been instructed to hand the packet over to the pedlar to deliver there?

  It might be, he reflected, that she was playing a double game. If so, she must be a very experienced agent indeed, and could expect to come to an unpleasant end if she failed to watch her step.

  At this grim thought, a sudden wave of doubt swept over him. Could he be mistaken? He had been told to find two females, one young and personable, one in middle years, who would be journeying together from London to the White Hart in Lewes at a certain time. Had he found the wrong pair? No, For Miss Thorne and Miss Ellis had been the only two women to arrive together at the inn at the relevant time. Other female visitors had been accompanied by a male, with the exception of Mrs. Wood. That lady had arrived without escort, nor were any friends or relatives awaiting at the inn. This was an unusual circumstance: he paused to consider it.

  Suppose Mrs. Wood should be the female he was after, and not Elizabeth Thorne? It was true that two females had been lodging at the house in Lincoln’s Inn Fields and that by the time a search of the house was made, they had both disappeared. It had been assumed that they had left for Lewes in company but there was no direct evidence to prove this. What if they had separated, the younger and more intrepid of the two undertaking the delivery of the packet in Lewes, and the older woman making for some other destination? Although naturally most of his attention had been given to Elizabeth and her friend, he had not altogether overlooked Mrs. Wood, for everyone could bear investigation in a mission of this kind. Some of the woman’s actions had seemed noteworthy, in view of all he knew. She had shown an interest in the pedlar; and once Farnham had caught her loitering outside Miss Thorne’s room, as though about to enter. She had walked away at once when he had come up the stairs, an action which in itself had seemed to him suspicious; for if she had a legitimate errand to Miss Thorne, she would surely have knocked upon the door. He had borne the incident in mind without attaching too much importance to it, for at that time he had been convinced that Miss Thorne was the woman he had been seeking. Then there was a circumstance for which he had only Elizabeth’s word — the fact that Mrs. Wood had shown a marked interest on hearing Miss Thorne and Miss Ellis talking in the Mail coach of their visit to Crowle Manor.

  But if Mrs. Wood had brought the packet from London, how did it come to be in Miss Thorne’s possession at all? That was a question which he might have done well to put to Elizabeth. He would have done so had he felt any doubts during their recent interview of her complicity in the business. Strange that he should have felt so certain of her guilt while he was with her, and that now doubts should be creeping in. He shrugged: there was no accounting for second thoughts, but it was best not to ignore them. Assuming for the moment that it had been Mrs. Wood who had met Potts in the stable yard and not Miss Thorne, how could Elizabeth’s absence from her room at the same time be explained?

&
nbsp; He swore softly to himself. It could not, unless she knew more than she was willing to admit. She was concerned in this affair in some way — she must be.

  His quick mind followed the notion of Mrs. Wood as the original courier. Under pretence of buying ribbons from the pedlar, she had no doubt made the assignation for tonight. By some means or other, Elizabeth Thorne had tricked her out of the letter, and she had been forced to keep the appointment empty-handed. He nodded: this was borne out by his failure to find the letter when he had searched the pedlar’s effects. So now, since Elizabeth no longer had the letter — and he knew she had not, unless it was hidden in her companion’s room — it was most likely that Mrs. Wood had succeeded in recovering it. She must have accomplished this during the time that Elizabeth was out of her room, and before he had entered it. Which meant that, while he had been talking to Elizabeth in her room, Mrs. Wood might well have been handing the letter over to Potts.

  Having reached this alarming conclusion, he gave up thought in favour of action. Taking up a small dark-lantern which he used on such occasions, he made his way for the second time that night out of the inn and across the yard to the stables.

  Inside, he swiftly mounted the ladder leading to the hay loft where Potts slept, and, reaching the trap door, raised it a few cautious inches. All was dark and silent within, except for the faint rustle of a marauding mouse. After listening for a few more minutes, he opened the trap door wide, swinging his body through the aperture with a lithe movement. The hay which was strewn over the floor muffled the sound of his landing. He knew the place from his previous visit, and took cover behind some bales of hay close at hand.

  There seemed no sign of life: even the mice were silent, startled by his alien presence. On his previous visit, he had put Potts temporarily to sleep by an effective, but not vicious, blow while he carried out his search. The man should have recovered his senses some time ago, and now would be sleeping naturally, if at all.

  Farnham waited a while, straining his ears for any movement, any sound of breathing that might advertise the pedlar’s presence. As the minutes ticked by and he heard nothing, the conviction grew on him steadily that Potts was no longer in the loft. At last he stepped out from behind the concealing bales of hay, Adjusting a shutter on the dark-lantern, he directed a beam of light around him.

  He saw at once an indentation in some loose hay where a body had recently been lying, and beside it muddy footprints leading towards the trap door. It need only a few more moments to assure him that Potts and his pack had gone.

  He left the loft without further delay, going cautiously to the stall where he knew the pedlar’s horse was stabled. He had been there earlier, leaving nothing to chance in his search for the letter.

  As he feared, the stall was empty now; Potts had ridden off into the night.

  The discovery did not dismay Farnham to any extent. If Potts had the packet with him, then he would be taking it to Crowle Manor; if he had not, and his flight had been caused solely by Farnham’s recent rough treatment of him, then the packet would still be in the possession of Miss Thorne and her companion. They too, would take it to its appointed destination. Either way, the trail led to Crowle and he must reach there without undue delay.

  There was another possibility which did not seem very probable, although he could not afford to overlook it. This was that Mrs. Wood might be in possession of the packet, having taken it from Miss Thorne, but failed to pass it on to Potts. If so, she, too, would try to convey it to Crowle, or else pass it on to someone else who could. So the woman would need watching; but that must be a task for someone else. He must have help. Fortunately, he knew where to go for it, and could find it close at hand.

  Soft-footed, he left the stables and headed through the archway of the inn towards the dark, deserted streets of the town.

  Chapter 12

  AT CROWLE MANOR

  ‘It was easy to see,’ concluded Elizabeth, ‘that he didn’t believe one word of what I’d told him.’

  ‘I suppose one can hardly blame the gentleman,’ replied Margaret Ellis. ‘It is such a very odd story. I can scarcely credit it myself. But all the same, as he once knew you so intimately ‘

  ‘Oh, that is nothing to the purpose,’ put in Elizabeth, hurriedly. ‘People change with the years — it is a mistake to suppose they do not. No, what I find difficult to understand, Margaret, is what Mr. Farnham’s interest in this strange affair can possibly be.’

  ‘He did not enlighten you?’

  Elizabeth shook her head. ‘He threw out a number of remarks which led me to suppose that he had some connection with the law, or the Customs authorities. But as to saying anything definite, no. Neither could I learn from him exactly what was in the mysterious packet. He insisted on behaving as if I knew very well what it contained, and could lead him to it, if I chose. He even,’ she finished, with a blush, ‘went so far as to search my baggage himself, when I could not find the letter.’

  Miss Ellis exclaimed in horror. ‘My dear child, you should have called me to your aid! I would soon have sent him about his business!’

  ‘Yes, Margaret, but it did seem to be very much his business; and even though he would not explain himself, I feel very strongly that I ought not to hinder him. There is something of the utmost importance, I feel sure, behind all the odd incidents which have occurred since we left London.’ A worried frown settled on her brow. ‘And yet, suppose I have it all wrong? Suppose the pedlar and Mrs. Wood have a right to the packet, and Mr. Farnham is seeking to obtain illicit possession of it? I almost wish it had been left in our charge and then we could have delivered it to the person to whom it was directed. That, at any rate, could surely not have been the wrong thing to do!’

  ‘Well, for my part,’ said Miss Ellis, emphatically, ‘I am very glad to be rid of it, for now we can forget the whole disturbing business. And as the missing guide book has been returned to us, things are exactly as they were when we started out.’

  Elizabeth sighed, and lapsed into silence, watching the gentle rise and fall of the Downs as their chaise travelled along the twisting road which led towards Crowle and the sea. She could not agree with her friend. Nothing could be quite the same again. Robert Farnham had been absent from her thoughts for many years but now she had met him once more, and in a manner that was likely to keep him in her mind for some time; for he was the centre of a mystery that would continue to intrigue her until she had succeeded in solving its riddle. And as it did not seem very likely that she would ever have an opportunity of doing so, now that the packet had vanished and they were leaving the White Hart and its mysterious guests behind, she feared there must be many moments when thoughts of him would intrude on her peace.

  She had just finished telling Miss Ellis of her adventures on the preceding night. In the cold light of day, they sounded incredible, and Margaret had been frankly astounded. Elizabeth reflected that perhaps the most incredible thing of all was the fact that she had submitted to a search of her baggage. True, Robert Farnham could have forced her to this; but she had raised no more than a feeble objection, torn between feelings of indignation at being mistrusted and a strong persuasion that he had some legal right to act as he did. She had been spared any embarrassment by the matter-of-fact way in which he conducted the search. It occupied a very short time, and afterwards he had prowled swiftly and efficiently round her room in a practised manner, uncovering hiding places which would scarcely have occurred to her to use, had she been as guilty as he evidently supposed.

  He registered no emotion of any kind on finding that she had spoken no less than the truth when she said that the packet had gone. It did not induce him to relax his suspicious attitude towards her, nor to offer any explanation of the mysterious events in which she had been an unwilling participant. Some explanation she had naturally demanded but he had smiled at her cynically, and wished her good night as blandly as if their meeting had been the most ordinary occurrence in the world.

  ‘He i
s evidently a most unconventional gentleman,’ pronounced Margaret disapprovingly, on hearing this. ‘And I cannot help feeling, my love, that you had a fortunate escape earlier in life, in not becoming his wife. Besides, whatever his concern in this strange affair may be — whether legal or not — it wouldn’t have been at all comfortable for you to have a husband whose occupation in life was of such a nature! There are worse fates, indeed, than that of being a spinster.’

  The dark, disturbing presence of Robert Farnham took possession of Elizabeth’s senses for a moment. She shivered a little, and shook off the memory, directing her companion’s attention to the beauty of the Downland scenery through which they were passing.

  It was almost noon when they came to Crowle, a pleasant village with cottages grouped around a green at one corner of which stood the Martlet Inn, a low-lying flint building dating from the fifteenth century, with small latticed windows which glinted in the sun. A small group of men seated outside the tavern on upturned barrels turned to stare at the post chaise as it passed.

  ‘I dare say they don’t see many carriages come this way,’ remarked Margaret Ellis. ‘Oh, dear, how dangerous this road is! I wish the postilion will not go so fast!’

  The road along which they turned after leaving the village wound its way around the side of a hill, and was both stony and narrow. The ladies received a severe jolting for the next half-mile or so; until the postilion turned off into an even narrower lane and was obliged to slow the horses to a walking pace, as the high hedges which bordered the lane had not been cut back for some time. At length the chaise passed through the open gates of Crowle Manor, and along a well-kept carriage drive which led straight to the stables. Just before they came to the stable buildings, the drive branched off to the right and brought them to an ornate iron gate set in a high wall which completely surrounded the house.