Okewood of the Secret Service [38]
the Nineveh?" he asked.
"The lady has not returned, sir!"
"Anything from Gordon and Duff?"
"No, sir, nothing all day!"
The telephone on the desk whirred. The Chief lifted the receiver.
"Yes. Oh, it's you, Gordon? No, you can say it now: this is a private line."
He listened at the receiver for a couple of minutes. The room was very still.
"All right, come to the office at once!"
The Chief hung up the receiver and turned to the Admiral.
"She's given us the slip for the moment!" he said. "That was Gordon speaking. He and Duff have been shadowing our lady friend out of doors for days. She left the hotel on foot after lunch this afternoon with my two fellows in her wake. There was a bit of a crush on the pavement near Charing Cross and Duff was pushed into the roadway and run over by a motor-'bus. In the confusion Gordon lost the trail. He's wasted all this time trying to pick it up again instead of reporting to me at once."
"Zut!" cried the Frenchman.
CHAPTER XI. CREDENTIALS
The sight of Nur-el-Din filled Desmond with alarm. For a moment his mind was overshadowed by the dread of detection. He had forgotten all about Mr. Crook's handiwork in the train, and his immediate fear was that the dancer would awake and recognize him. But then he caught sight of his face in the mirror over the mantelpiece. The grave bearded man staring oddly at him out of the glass gave him a shock until he realized the metamorphosis that had taken place in his personality. The realization served instantly to still his apprehension.
Nur-el-Din lay on her side, one hand under her face which was turned away from the fire. She was wearing a big black musquash coat, and over her feet she had flung a tweed overcoat, apparently one of Mr. Bellward's from the hatstand in the hall. Her hat, a very dainty little affair of plain black velvet, was skewered with a couple of jewelled hatpins to the upholstery of the settee.
Desmond watched her for a moment. Her face looked drawn and tired now that her eyelids, with their long sweeping black lashes, were closed, shutting off the extraordinary luminosity of her eyes. As he stood silently contemplating her, she stirred and moaned in her sleep and muttered some word three or four times to herself. Desmond was conscious of a great feeling of compassion for this strangely beautiful creature. Knowing as he did of the hundred-eyed monster of the British Secret Service that was watching her, he found himself thinking how frail, how helpless, how unprotected she looked, lying there in the flickering light of the fire.
A step resounded behind him and old Martha shuffled into the room, carefully shading the lamp she still carried so that its rays should not fall on the face of the sleeper.
"I don't know as I've done right, sir," she mumbled, "letting the pore lady wait here for you like this, but I couldn't hardly help it, sir! She says as how she must see you, and seeing as how your first tellygram said you was coming at half-past nine, I lets her stop on!"
"When did she arrive" asked Desmond softly.
"About six o'clock," answered the old, woman. "Walked all the way up from Wentfield Station, too, sir, and that cold she was when she arrived here, fair blue with the cold she was, pore dear. D'reckly she open her lips, I sees she's a furrin' lady, sir. She asks after you and I tells her as how you are away and won't be back till this evening. 'Oh!' she says, I then I wait!' And in she comes without so much as with your leave or by your leave. She told me as how you knew her, sir, and were expecting to see her, most important, she said it was, so I hots her up a bit o' dinner. I hopes as how I didn't do wrong,, Mr. Bellward, sir!"
"Oh, no, Martha, not at all!" Desmond replied--at random. He was sorely perplexed as to his next move. Obviously the girl could not stay in the house. What on earth did she want with him? And could he, at any rate, get at the desk and read the papers of which the note spoke and which, he did not doubt, were the dossier of the Bellward case, before
"The lady has not returned, sir!"
"Anything from Gordon and Duff?"
"No, sir, nothing all day!"
The telephone on the desk whirred. The Chief lifted the receiver.
"Yes. Oh, it's you, Gordon? No, you can say it now: this is a private line."
He listened at the receiver for a couple of minutes. The room was very still.
"All right, come to the office at once!"
The Chief hung up the receiver and turned to the Admiral.
"She's given us the slip for the moment!" he said. "That was Gordon speaking. He and Duff have been shadowing our lady friend out of doors for days. She left the hotel on foot after lunch this afternoon with my two fellows in her wake. There was a bit of a crush on the pavement near Charing Cross and Duff was pushed into the roadway and run over by a motor-'bus. In the confusion Gordon lost the trail. He's wasted all this time trying to pick it up again instead of reporting to me at once."
"Zut!" cried the Frenchman.
CHAPTER XI. CREDENTIALS
The sight of Nur-el-Din filled Desmond with alarm. For a moment his mind was overshadowed by the dread of detection. He had forgotten all about Mr. Crook's handiwork in the train, and his immediate fear was that the dancer would awake and recognize him. But then he caught sight of his face in the mirror over the mantelpiece. The grave bearded man staring oddly at him out of the glass gave him a shock until he realized the metamorphosis that had taken place in his personality. The realization served instantly to still his apprehension.
Nur-el-Din lay on her side, one hand under her face which was turned away from the fire. She was wearing a big black musquash coat, and over her feet she had flung a tweed overcoat, apparently one of Mr. Bellward's from the hatstand in the hall. Her hat, a very dainty little affair of plain black velvet, was skewered with a couple of jewelled hatpins to the upholstery of the settee.
Desmond watched her for a moment. Her face looked drawn and tired now that her eyelids, with their long sweeping black lashes, were closed, shutting off the extraordinary luminosity of her eyes. As he stood silently contemplating her, she stirred and moaned in her sleep and muttered some word three or four times to herself. Desmond was conscious of a great feeling of compassion for this strangely beautiful creature. Knowing as he did of the hundred-eyed monster of the British Secret Service that was watching her, he found himself thinking how frail, how helpless, how unprotected she looked, lying there in the flickering light of the fire.
A step resounded behind him and old Martha shuffled into the room, carefully shading the lamp she still carried so that its rays should not fall on the face of the sleeper.
"I don't know as I've done right, sir," she mumbled, "letting the pore lady wait here for you like this, but I couldn't hardly help it, sir! She says as how she must see you, and seeing as how your first tellygram said you was coming at half-past nine, I lets her stop on!"
"When did she arrive" asked Desmond softly.
"About six o'clock," answered the old, woman. "Walked all the way up from Wentfield Station, too, sir, and that cold she was when she arrived here, fair blue with the cold she was, pore dear. D'reckly she open her lips, I sees she's a furrin' lady, sir. She asks after you and I tells her as how you are away and won't be back till this evening. 'Oh!' she says, I then I wait!' And in she comes without so much as with your leave or by your leave. She told me as how you knew her, sir, and were expecting to see her, most important, she said it was, so I hots her up a bit o' dinner. I hopes as how I didn't do wrong,, Mr. Bellward, sir!"
"Oh, no, Martha, not at all!" Desmond replied--at random. He was sorely perplexed as to his next move. Obviously the girl could not stay in the house. What on earth did she want with him? And could he, at any rate, get at the desk and read the papers of which the note spoke and which, he did not doubt, were the dossier of the Bellward case, before