Okewood of the Secret Service [41]
why, then, the chase were worth while! But the end? For a brief moment, he had a vision of that frail, clinging figure swaying up against some blank wall before a file of levelled rifles.
Then again he seemed to see old Mackwayte lying dead on the landing of the house at Seven Kings. Had this frail girl done this unspeakable deed? To send her to the gallows or before a firing-squad--was this to be the end of his mission? And the still, small voice of conscience answered: " Yes! that is what you have come here to do! "
Old Martha came shuffling down the staircase. Desmond called to her, remembering that he did not yet know where his bedroom was.
"Will you light me up to my room, Martha?" he said, "I want to be sure that the sheets are not damp!"
So saying he extinguished the lamp on the table and followed the old woman upstairs.
CHAPTER XII. AT THE MILL HOUSE
Clad in a suit of Mr. Basil Bellward's pyjamas of elaborate blue-flowered silk, Desmond lay propped up in bed in Mr. Bellward's luxuriously fitted bedroom, sipping his morning coffee, and studying with absorbed interest a sheet of blue foolscap. A number of papers lay strewn about the eiderdown quilt. At the head of the bed a handsome Sheraton bureau stood open.
As the French say, Mr. Bellward had refused himself nothing. His bedroom was most tastefully furnished. The furniture was mahogany, every piece carefully chosen, and the chintz of curtains and upholstery was bright and attractive. A most elaborate mahogany wardrobe was fitted into the wall, and Desmond, investigating it, had found it to contain a very large assortment of clothes of every description, all new or nearly so, and bearing the name of a famous tailor of Cork Street. Folding doors, resembling a cupboard, disclosed, when open, a marble basin with hot water laid on, while a curtained door in the corner of the room gave access to a white tiled bathroom. Mr. Bellward, Desmond had reflected after his tour of the room on his arrival, evidently laid weight on his personal comfort; for the contrast between the cheerful comfort of his bedroom and the musty gloom of the rooms downstairs was very marked.
A bright log fire hissed on the open hearth and the room was pleasantly warm. Old Martha's coffee was excellent, and Desmond, very snug in Mr. Bellward's comfortable bed, noted with regret that the clock on the mantel-shelf marked a quarter to twelve. But then he thought of the tete-a-tete luncheon that awaited him at one o'clock and his face cleared. He didn't mind getting up so much after all.
He fell again to the perusal of the documents which he had found, as indicated in the note from headquarters, in the desk by the bed. They were enclosed in two envelopes, one large, the other small, both without any superscription. The large envelope enclosed Mr. Bellward 's dossier which consisted of a fairly detailed account of his private life, movements, habits and friends, and an account of his arrest. The small envelope contained Desmond's eagerly expected orders.
Desmond examined the papers in the large envelope first. From them he ascertained that the house in which he found himself was called The Mill House, and was situated two and a half miles from the station of Wentfield on the Great Eastern Railway in Essex. Mr. Bellward had taken the place some eight years before, having moved there from the Surrey hills, but had been wont to spend not more than two months in the year there. For the rest of the time he traveled abroad, usually passing the winter months on the Riviera, and the spring in Switzerland or Italy. The war had brought about a change in his habits, and Harrogate, Buxton and Bath had taken the place of the Continental resorts which he had frequented in peace time.
When in residence at The Mill House, Mr. Bellward had gone up to London nearly every morning, either walking or going by motor-cycle to the station, and not returning until dinner-time in the evening. Sometimes he passed the night in London, and on such occasions slept at a small hotel in Jermyn Street.
Then again he seemed to see old Mackwayte lying dead on the landing of the house at Seven Kings. Had this frail girl done this unspeakable deed? To send her to the gallows or before a firing-squad--was this to be the end of his mission? And the still, small voice of conscience answered: " Yes! that is what you have come here to do! "
Old Martha came shuffling down the staircase. Desmond called to her, remembering that he did not yet know where his bedroom was.
"Will you light me up to my room, Martha?" he said, "I want to be sure that the sheets are not damp!"
So saying he extinguished the lamp on the table and followed the old woman upstairs.
CHAPTER XII. AT THE MILL HOUSE
Clad in a suit of Mr. Basil Bellward's pyjamas of elaborate blue-flowered silk, Desmond lay propped up in bed in Mr. Bellward's luxuriously fitted bedroom, sipping his morning coffee, and studying with absorbed interest a sheet of blue foolscap. A number of papers lay strewn about the eiderdown quilt. At the head of the bed a handsome Sheraton bureau stood open.
As the French say, Mr. Bellward had refused himself nothing. His bedroom was most tastefully furnished. The furniture was mahogany, every piece carefully chosen, and the chintz of curtains and upholstery was bright and attractive. A most elaborate mahogany wardrobe was fitted into the wall, and Desmond, investigating it, had found it to contain a very large assortment of clothes of every description, all new or nearly so, and bearing the name of a famous tailor of Cork Street. Folding doors, resembling a cupboard, disclosed, when open, a marble basin with hot water laid on, while a curtained door in the corner of the room gave access to a white tiled bathroom. Mr. Bellward, Desmond had reflected after his tour of the room on his arrival, evidently laid weight on his personal comfort; for the contrast between the cheerful comfort of his bedroom and the musty gloom of the rooms downstairs was very marked.
A bright log fire hissed on the open hearth and the room was pleasantly warm. Old Martha's coffee was excellent, and Desmond, very snug in Mr. Bellward's comfortable bed, noted with regret that the clock on the mantel-shelf marked a quarter to twelve. But then he thought of the tete-a-tete luncheon that awaited him at one o'clock and his face cleared. He didn't mind getting up so much after all.
He fell again to the perusal of the documents which he had found, as indicated in the note from headquarters, in the desk by the bed. They were enclosed in two envelopes, one large, the other small, both without any superscription. The large envelope enclosed Mr. Bellward 's dossier which consisted of a fairly detailed account of his private life, movements, habits and friends, and an account of his arrest. The small envelope contained Desmond's eagerly expected orders.
Desmond examined the papers in the large envelope first. From them he ascertained that the house in which he found himself was called The Mill House, and was situated two and a half miles from the station of Wentfield on the Great Eastern Railway in Essex. Mr. Bellward had taken the place some eight years before, having moved there from the Surrey hills, but had been wont to spend not more than two months in the year there. For the rest of the time he traveled abroad, usually passing the winter months on the Riviera, and the spring in Switzerland or Italy. The war had brought about a change in his habits, and Harrogate, Buxton and Bath had taken the place of the Continental resorts which he had frequented in peace time.
When in residence at The Mill House, Mr. Bellward had gone up to London nearly every morning, either walking or going by motor-cycle to the station, and not returning until dinner-time in the evening. Sometimes he passed the night in London, and on such occasions slept at a small hotel in Jermyn Street.