by Sapper
“I see, Mr Standish,” answered the other gravely, “that you know who I am. So I will not waste my breath by pointing out that at such a time as this, only the gravest emergency, would have brought me to consult you.”
Ronald held up his hand.
“One moment, if you please, Sir James. Bob and I are only humble readers of the newspapers, and are not behind the scenes. Is anything of special import brewing? From your words, I gather it is. And” – as he noticed a certain reticence on the other’s face – “I need hardly point out to you, that if you desire my assistance, it is essential that I should be in full possession of all the facts. All,” he repeated quietly.
“I quite appreciate your point, Mr Standish,” said Sir James. “And I will put all the relevant facts in front of you.”
He paused for a moment or two as if marshalling his thoughts: then speaking in the concise, almost legal manner of a senior civil servant, he began.
“Two months ago, my chief, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, rented Styles Court from Mr Cresswell.”
“I saw that Mr Bignor had done so,” said Ronald. “He is there at present, I understand – and not in the best of health.”
“Precisely: he is not in the best of health. Now, even from a superficial study of the newspapers, you are probably aware that the condition of affairs in Europe today, is very unsettled. And it is no exaggeration to say that the Press, with their usual loyalty, have not divulged one half of what they know. In a nutshell, conditions have seldom been graver, and, as usual, finance is at the root of half the trouble. Problems of security and boundaries play their part, but, au fond everything comes back to money.
“Realising this fundamental fact, Mr Bignor some months ago started tentative negotiations with the representatives of certain foreign powers for a joint discussion on the position. And the essence of his idea was secrecy. No Press, however devoted, could be expected to refrain from comment on a conference such as we have become accustomed to since the war. And so, through channels into which I need not go at the moment, except to say they were not the usual diplomatic ones, his plans gradually took shape and the thing was arranged. No whisper of the thing escaped: the papers are still in complete ignorance of it.
“Under normal circumstances the meetings would have taken place in London, but the unexpected indisposition of the Chancellor rendered that impossible. And so it was decided to hold them at Styles Court. Do you by any chance know the house?”
“I do,” said Ronald.
“Then you know the annexe Mr Cresswell has built on and I need not bother to describe it to you. The first of the meetings was held a fortnight ago in that room. The delegates had come separately, and by devious routes, and I am certain – or I was then – that no inkling of what was taking place leaked out.”
“One point I would like cleared up,” interrupted Ronald. “What are the countries concerned?”
Sir James hesitated: then drawing a piece of paper towards him he wrote some words on it.
“I see,” said Ronald, concealing a smile at such an excess of caution. “So there were just the three delegates, Mr Bignor and yourself at the meeting?”
“Each delegate was accompanied by one adviser, who filled the same position as I did.”
“Therefore there were eight of you in all?”
“That is correct. The meeting commenced after lunch, and lasted till dinner, when the delegates motored back to London, having arranged the date for the next meeting. And though this first discussion had only been on general lines, even at that one many things had been said which it was essential should not be divulged. For I need hardly point out to you, Mr Standish, how invaluable inside information would be on matters of that sort to international financiers. You may judge then of our amazement and dismay, when it became obvious to us the next day, that that was just what had happened. Either a certain group on the Continent had pulled off an almost incredible fluke, or…”
“Someone had blown the gaff,” put in Ronald quietly.
“So it seemed at the time. Which put everyone, as you can well imagine, in a very awkward position. The three principals were as much above suspicion as Mr Bignor: their three advisers were occupying positions as responsible as I was myself. In short, the only solutions that occurred to us were that someone had, quite unintentionally, been indiscreet, or that, during the afternoon some of our conversation had been overheard by a listener outside. And so at our next meeting we decided – I should say Mr Bignor and I decided – to eliminate, at any rate, the second alternative. As you know, the room has four outside walls, and two Scotland Yard men were posted so that no one could approach the annexe unseen.
“With regard to the other solution the matter had, of course, to be alluded to, and the ground was delicate. But with that characteristic directness which marks one of the nations represented, we got over the awkwardness more easily than I anticipated. Without any preliminary beating about the bush, and with a smile which robbed the remark of any offence he said – ‘Wal, gentlemen, I guess that someone, without intending to, has spilt the beans. We’ll have to watch it this time.’”
Sir James shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m sorry to say that his words had no effect on the culprit. To use his own phrase, the beans were spilt again. The Scotland Yard men were satisfied that no one had been near the annexe; the possibility of it having been a fluke on the first occasion was eliminated, and we were left with the unpleasant impression that one of us was a traitor.”
“One might almost say certainly,” said Ronald.
“At the time I would have agreed with you: I did agree with you. Now – and this is my reason for coming here – I don’t know. I have heard of your great reputation, Mr Standish,” he continued courteously, “but even you would have been powerless, I venture to think, to have kept such track of several people in London that you could have spotted the culprit. A word over the telephone, spoken in code from a bedroom was all that was necessary to convey the information. But at the time, as I say, I thought it was a certainty: we all did. Which rendered the atmosphere almost intolerable.
“It was again the American who saved the situation with his usual blunt candour. I will not attempt to repeat his actual words, but shorn of trappings his remarks boiled down to this. One of us eight was giving the show away – he could not even exempt Mr Bignor, who, though he was confined to the house had easy access to the telephone. And if that were so it was useless to continue the discussions. But in order to make absolutely certain, before taking such a drastic step as calling the conference off he suggested the following plan, if Mr Bignor approved. We should all make Styles Court our headquarters, and remain there for the night and day following our next meeting. And if no information leaked out the case would be proved and there would be nothing for it but for everyone to return home. He pointed out that as we were all under equal suspicion, no one need feel any offence should that suspicion prove wrong.
“Mr Bignor agreed, and suggested the further precaution that the telephone should be disconnected.”
Sir James lit a cigarette.
“I suppose I should say the scheme was a success. Certainly it seems to have cleared all of us, even if it has deepened the mystery. As you can imagine, everyone was ostentatiously careful of what they did. The telephone was out of action: no letter was sent: no one left the house save for a stroll in the garden and then he took care not to go alone. Additional men were drafted in from Scotland Yard, and it is certain that no stranger approached the house. And yet, next day it was obvious that all our precautions were in vain: the information had been passed on. How? Where is this leakage?”
“The servants,” said Ronald thoughtfully.
“A CID man was seated during the whole meeting at the entrance to the passage leading to the annexe.”
“Tell me, Sir James,” said Ronald after a while, “the nature of the information. What I am trying to get at is this. For it to be of value to the pe
ople at the other end would it have to be a long and complicated message? Or would some simple order such as Sell so-and-so short: Buy such-and-such a stock, be sufficient?”
“Undoubtedly, that would be enough.”
“Under those circumstances an easy code with an electric torch from a bedroom window would do the trick.”
“Would anyone risk it knowing the house was watched?”
“True,” agreed Ronald. “And yet it has got through somehow.”
“I am asking you to find out how that somehow is. If, Mr Standish, it was only a group of financiers pulling off a scoop it wouldn’t matter so much, though it would be very annoying. But bigger things are involved: international problems of far-reaching importance.”
“You are proposing to hold more meetings?”
“More or less continuously over next weekend,” said Sir James. “And since they will be the last, decisions may be taken then which must not be divulged.”
“I see,” said Ronald. “Well, Sir James, if I come down I take it you will be able to give me every facility for making enquiries.”
“Short of being actually present at the meeting, Mr Standish, you can do what you like and go where you please. All we ask is that you should solve the mystery.”
He rose, and shortly afterwards left with Tom Cresswell.
“A bit of a teaser, Bob,” remarked Ronald, as he stuffed his pipe. “What do you make of it?”
“That you hit the nail on the head when you suggested signalling from a window.”
“Almost too obvious to be correct. Sir James was right there. Would the guilty man have dared risk it knowing the house was being watched by a cordon of the keenest eyed men in the world? Still, it remains a possibility, and about the only one I see so far. So let’s get down there at once, Bob; we’ve got a couple of days to spy out the land.”
Mr Bignor having evidently been put wise to our arrival, received us with the greatest courtesy.
“I sincerely hope,” he said as he shook hands, “that you will be able to solve it, though I confess that I see no ray of light myself.”
He apologised for not being able to put us up, but Ronald assured him that we were quite comfortable at the local inn. And with that we left to start investigations. And the first man we ran into was Inspector McIver, an old friend of ours. He grinned when he saw us.
“Horse, foot and artillery all mobilsed,” he remarked. “But honestly, Mr Standish,” he grew serious again, “it is a bit of a poser.”
“So it seems,” said Ronald, leading the way towards the annexe, where a man was seated in an armchair quietly smoking. He sprang to his feet as the inspector entered.
“All correct, sir,” he reported.
“This room has had a man in it day and night, Mr Standish, ever since the last meeting,” said McIver. “And during the coming conference someone will be here up to the moment the gentlemen arrive, and will take over again the instant things are finished for the day.”
“You examined the room, of course?”
“Almost to the extent of ripping up the wainscotting,” grunted McIver.
“Naturally, I need hardly have asked. How many men did you have round the house that night?”
“Enough to keep every room under observation,” said the inspector. “If you are thinking of the possibility of someone signalling, rule it out.”
Ronald nodded.
“And how many inside?”
“A man at the foot of the staircase: a man at the foot of the servants’ staircase, and two men doing a general patrol all night. Though really the gentlemen themselves were their own best detectives; each of them is watching his next door neighbour as if he was a convicted murderer.”
“I gathered that from Sir James,” said Ronald with a smile.
“Now of course, it is better. They feel they have been given a clean bill of health, and are certain that the information has been obtained from an outside source.”
“And what do you think yourself, McIver?”
“Just this,” said the inspector grimly. “Whatever may have happened last time, there is going to be no outside source this next one. Excuse me, Mr Standish, I’m wanted.”
He bustled away, and we strolled out into the garden. The afternoon was hot, and throwing myself on a shady bank I took off my hat and let the faint breeze play round my forehead. In the distance a small river wound its way through the fields, whilst just below me the owner of a neighbouring farm was cutting his corn. He worked by hand in the old-fashioned way, and the field – for the job was nearly finished – was covered with neatly arranged stooks. And as I watched him the contrast struck home forcibly. Behind me, the might of a great police force mobilised to prevent international complications; in front, not a hundred yards away, one of the real fundamentals of life – unchanged for thousands of years. And in all probability the diplomats would have felt scandalised had it been suggested to them that they and all they stood for were the less important of the two.
A tall man came striding across the field, and pausing for a moment to speak to the farmer, came on up the slight rise towards us. It was Sir James, and he stopped as he reached us.
“I am glad you have been able to come so promptly,” he said. “It is too early, I suppose, to ask if you’ve come to any conclusion?”
“None, I fear, Sir James,” answered Ronald. “And I see no chance of doing so until the next conference begins. I have talked to McIver, but the scent is altogether too cold to arrive at any conclusions at present.”
“He’s the Scotland Yard man in charge?”
“Yes. And a very able officer. I have worked with him often. By the way, when was Mr Bignor taken ill?”
Sir James thought for a moment.
“Two days before the first meeting.”
“So that it was only just before that meeting that it was decided to hold the conference here and not in London?”
“It was decided on the actual morning,” said Sir James.
“And how was the decision communicated to the delegates?”
“By my secretary personally.”
“No possibility of any leakage there, I suppose?”
“Absolutely none,” cried Sir James emphatically. “Merriman is beyond suspicion.”
He strode away towards the house, and Ronald knocked out his pipe and got up.
“Let’s go back to the pub, Bob,” he said. “A pint of ale is indicated. We might walk over the fields.”
Our direction lay via the cornfield. And as we came abreast of the farmer he greeted us cheerily.
“Nearly finished, I see,” remarked Ronald. “You’ve got good weather for it.”
The old man nodded.
“Might be worse,” he conceded. “Be you gennelmen staying up at the Court?”
“No, we’re at the Angel. I suppose,” he went on casually, “a good many tourists and strangers come down to these parts?”
“A tidy few; mostly earlier in the year though. And we had some of them dratted hikers a few days ago.”
“But they don’t do any damage, do they?”
The farmer snorted.
“Not ’xactly damage; but silly nonsensical mischief. But what do they want to upset the stooks for? That’s what I want to know.”
“Why don’t you tell them to put ’em up again?”
“They were gone before I got here in the morning,” said the old man.
“Well, we all have our worries,” said Ronald with a smile. “Good day to you.”
We strolled on, Ronald deep in thought.
“A definite snorter this, Bob,” he said at length. “Since it was only decided on the actual morning of the first meeting to hold it here, how could any outside agency get the news in time to alter their plans, unless there is a traitor in the camp?”
“One of the servants at Styles Court would have been in a position to pass that on.”
“Granted. But in view of the fact that, but for the Chancellor’s indis
position, the conference was to have been held in London, what would have been the object of an outside agency squaring a servant here? If the original plan had been adhered to, none of the servants here would have been any use.”
“That’s so,” I agreed. “Well – I give it up. Thank heavens, here’s the pub! I can do with that pint.”
I hardly saw him at all during the next two days. He disappeared after breakfast and only returned in time for dinner each night. Moreover he was not communicative, and I could tell by various little signs that things were not going well. He would discuss anything except the point at issue, and even then periodically he would fall into a brown study, staring out of the window, and drumming on the table with his finger nails.
I knew of old the futility of questioning him, so I possessed my soul in patience till he should choose to be more talkative. Twice McIver came to the inn and they had long consultations, but it was not until Friday that Ronald alluded to the matter again with me.
“Now we start the doings, Bob,” he said. “And it is a lucky thing that the weather is set fine. For the next few days we join McIver’s merry lads.”
“Delighted to hear it,” I cried. “The last two days have not been a scream of gaiety.”
“Sorry, old boy,” he said. “Afraid it’s been damned dull for you. And the trouble of it is that I may be on the wrong line now.”
“You’ve got an idea anyway?”
“The vaguest,” he said briefly. “Bring your little camera with you.”
I slipped it in my pocket and we started off.
“Are we going to take pictures of the delegates?” I asked.
“No, my dear Bob, we are not. We are, if luck is with us, going to take pictures of the sleepy English countryside.”
We reached Styles Court and McIver joined us.
“They’ve all arrived, Mr Standish, and the conference begins after lunch.”
“You examined the room again thoroughly this morning?”
“Every nook and cranny of it. There’s nothing there. Would you like to walk round the defences?” he asked jocularly.