Okewood of the Secret Service [23]
he's posed as an English business man for so long that one is almost justified in doing so. As ,a matter of fact, the fellow is a German named Wolfgang Bruhl and it is my belief that he was planted in this country at least a dozen years ago solely for the purpose of furnishing him with good, respectable credentials for an emergency like this."
"But sorely if you found evidence of his connection with this gang of spies, it should be easy to get a clue to the rest of the crowd?"
"Not so easy as you think," the Chief replied. "The man who organized this system of espionage is a master at his craft. He has been careful to seal both ends of every connection, that is to say, though we found evidence of Master Bellward-Bruhl being in possession of highly confidential information relating to the movements of troops, we discovered nothing to show whence he received it or how or where he was going to forward it. But we did find a direct thread leading straight back to Nur-el-Din."
"Really," said Desmond, "that rather complicates things for her, doesn't it?"
"It was in the shape of a letter of introduction, in French, without date or address, warmly recommending the dancer to our friend, Bellward."
"Who is this letter from?"
"It is simply signed 'P.', but you shall see it for yourself when you get the other documents in the case."
"But surely, sir, such a letter might be presented in perfectly good faith..."
"It might, but not this one. This letter, as an expert has ascertained beyond all doubt, is written on German manufactured note-paper of a very superior quality;, the writing is stiff and angular and not French: and lastly, the French in which it is phrased, while correct, is unusually pompous and elaborate."
"Then..."
"The letter was, in all probability, written by a German!"
There was a moment's silence. Desmond was thinking despairingly of the seeming hopelessness of untangling this intricate webwork of tangled threads.
"And this murder, sir," he began.
The Chief shrugged his shoulders.
"The motive, Okewood, I am searching for the motive. I can see none except the highly improbable one of Miss Mackwayte being my confidential secretary. In that case why murder the father, a harmless old man who didn't even know that his daughter is in my service, why kill him, I ask you, and spare the girl? On the other hand, I believe the man Barney's story, and can see that Marigold does, too. When I first heard the news of the murder over the telephone this morning, I had a kind of intuition that we should discover in it a thread leading back to this mesh of espionage. Is it merely a coincidence that a hair, resembling Nur-el-Din's, is found adhering to the straps with which Barbara Mackwayte was bound? I can't think so... and yet..."
"But do you believe then, that Nur-el-Din murdered-old Mackwayte? My dear Chief, the idea is preposterous..."
The Chief rose from his chair with a sigh.
"Nothing is preposterous in our work, Okewood," he replied. "But it's 3.25, and my French colleague hates to be kept waiting."
"I thought you were seeing Strangwise, at two?" asked Desmond.
"I put him off until six o'clock," replied the Chief, "he knows Nur-el-Din, and he may be able to give Marigold some pointers about this affair. You're off to see Miss Mackwayte now, I suppose. You know where she's staying? Good. Well, I'll say good-bye, Okewood. I shan't see you again..."
"You won't see me again? How do you mean, sir?"
"Because you're going back to France!"
"Going back to France? When?"
"By the leave-boat to-night!"
Desmond smiled resignedly.
"My dear Chief," he said, "you must be more explicit. What am I going back to France for?"
"Why, now I come to think of it," replied the Chief, "I never told you. You're going back to France to be killed, of course!"
"To be killed!"
Desmond looked blankly at the other's blandly smiling face.
"Two or three days from now," said the Chief, "you will be killed in action in France. I thought of making it a shell. But we'll have it a machine
"But sorely if you found evidence of his connection with this gang of spies, it should be easy to get a clue to the rest of the crowd?"
"Not so easy as you think," the Chief replied. "The man who organized this system of espionage is a master at his craft. He has been careful to seal both ends of every connection, that is to say, though we found evidence of Master Bellward-Bruhl being in possession of highly confidential information relating to the movements of troops, we discovered nothing to show whence he received it or how or where he was going to forward it. But we did find a direct thread leading straight back to Nur-el-Din."
"Really," said Desmond, "that rather complicates things for her, doesn't it?"
"It was in the shape of a letter of introduction, in French, without date or address, warmly recommending the dancer to our friend, Bellward."
"Who is this letter from?"
"It is simply signed 'P.', but you shall see it for yourself when you get the other documents in the case."
"But surely, sir, such a letter might be presented in perfectly good faith..."
"It might, but not this one. This letter, as an expert has ascertained beyond all doubt, is written on German manufactured note-paper of a very superior quality;, the writing is stiff and angular and not French: and lastly, the French in which it is phrased, while correct, is unusually pompous and elaborate."
"Then..."
"The letter was, in all probability, written by a German!"
There was a moment's silence. Desmond was thinking despairingly of the seeming hopelessness of untangling this intricate webwork of tangled threads.
"And this murder, sir," he began.
The Chief shrugged his shoulders.
"The motive, Okewood, I am searching for the motive. I can see none except the highly improbable one of Miss Mackwayte being my confidential secretary. In that case why murder the father, a harmless old man who didn't even know that his daughter is in my service, why kill him, I ask you, and spare the girl? On the other hand, I believe the man Barney's story, and can see that Marigold does, too. When I first heard the news of the murder over the telephone this morning, I had a kind of intuition that we should discover in it a thread leading back to this mesh of espionage. Is it merely a coincidence that a hair, resembling Nur-el-Din's, is found adhering to the straps with which Barbara Mackwayte was bound? I can't think so... and yet..."
"But do you believe then, that Nur-el-Din murdered-old Mackwayte? My dear Chief, the idea is preposterous..."
The Chief rose from his chair with a sigh.
"Nothing is preposterous in our work, Okewood," he replied. "But it's 3.25, and my French colleague hates to be kept waiting."
"I thought you were seeing Strangwise, at two?" asked Desmond.
"I put him off until six o'clock," replied the Chief, "he knows Nur-el-Din, and he may be able to give Marigold some pointers about this affair. You're off to see Miss Mackwayte now, I suppose. You know where she's staying? Good. Well, I'll say good-bye, Okewood. I shan't see you again..."
"You won't see me again? How do you mean, sir?"
"Because you're going back to France!"
"Going back to France? When?"
"By the leave-boat to-night!"
Desmond smiled resignedly.
"My dear Chief," he said, "you must be more explicit. What am I going back to France for?"
"Why, now I come to think of it," replied the Chief, "I never told you. You're going back to France to be killed, of course!"
"To be killed!"
Desmond looked blankly at the other's blandly smiling face.
"Two or three days from now," said the Chief, "you will be killed in action in France. I thought of making it a shell. But we'll have it a machine