Okewood of the Secret Service [61]
forth anew.
"I have read of this in the newspapers," said Desmond. "I remember you told me he was a friend of yours."
Briefly, with many sobs, the dancer told him of the silver box which she had entrusted to Barbara Mackwayte's charge.
"And now," she sobbed, "it is lost and all my sacrifice, all my precautions, have been in vain!"
"But how?" asked Desmond. "Why should you think this box should have been taken? From what I remember reading of this case in the English newspapers there was a burglary at the house, but the thief has been arrested and the property restored. You have only to ask this Miss--what was the name? ah! yes, Mackwayte for your box and she will restore it!"
"No, no!" Nur-el-Din answered wearily, "you don't understand. This was no burglary. The man who murdered Monsieur Arthur murdered him to get my silver box."
"But," objected Desmond, "a silver box! What value has a trifling object like that? My dear young lady, murder is not done for a silver box!"
"No, no," Nur-el-Din repeated, "you don't understand! You don't know what that box contained!"
Then she relapsed into silence, plucking idly at the shred of cambric she held between her fingers.
Already dusk was falling and the room was full of shadows. The golden radiance of the afternoon had died and eerie wraiths of fog were peering-in at the window.
Desmond held his peace. He felt he was on the threshold of a confession that might rend the veil of mystery surrounding the murder at Seven Kings. He stared fixedly at the ugly red tablecloth, conscious that the big eyes of the girl were searching his face.
"You have honest eyes," she said presently. "I told you that once before... that night we met.at your house... do you remember? Your eyes are English. But you are a German, hein?"
"My mother was Irish," said Desmond and felt a momentary relief that, for once, he had been able to speak the truth.
"I want a friend," the girl resumed wearily, "someone that I can trust. But I look around and I find no one. You serve the German Empire, do you not?"
Desmond bowed.
"But not the House of Hohenzollern?" the girl cried, her voice trembling with passion.
"I am not of the Emperor's personal service, if that is what you mean, madame," Desmond returned coldly.
"Then, since you are not altogether an iron Prussian," Nur-el-Din resumed eagerly, "you can differentiate. You can understand that there is a difference between working for the cause of Germany and for the personal business of her princes."
"But certainly," answered Desmond, "I am not an errand boy nor yet a detective. I regard myself as a German officer doing his duty on the front. We have many fronts besides the Western and the Eastern. England is one.
"Ah," exclaimed the girl, clasping her hands together and looking at him with enraptured eyes, "I see you understand! My friend, I am much tempted to make a confidant of you!"
Desmond looked at her but did not speak. Again he felt that silence was now his only role. He tried hard to fix his mind on his duty; but the man in him was occupied with the woman who looked so appealingly at him.
"... but if I do," the girl went on and her voice was hurried and anxious, "you must swear to me that you will respect my confidence, that you will not betray me to the others and that you will, if need be, protect me."
Seeing that Desmond remained silent, she hastened to add:
"Believe me, what I ask you to do is not in opposition to your duty. My friend, for all my surroundings, I am not what I seem. Pate has drawn me into the system of which you form part; but, believe me, I know nothing of the service to which you and Mortimer and the rest belong!"
She spoke with painful earnestness and in a tone so mournful that Desmond felt himself profoundly moved. "If only she is not acting!" he thought, and sought to shake himself free from the spell which this girl seemed able to cast about him at will.
"Promise me that you will respect my confidence and help me!" she said and held out her hand.
Desmond's big
"I have read of this in the newspapers," said Desmond. "I remember you told me he was a friend of yours."
Briefly, with many sobs, the dancer told him of the silver box which she had entrusted to Barbara Mackwayte's charge.
"And now," she sobbed, "it is lost and all my sacrifice, all my precautions, have been in vain!"
"But how?" asked Desmond. "Why should you think this box should have been taken? From what I remember reading of this case in the English newspapers there was a burglary at the house, but the thief has been arrested and the property restored. You have only to ask this Miss--what was the name? ah! yes, Mackwayte for your box and she will restore it!"
"No, no!" Nur-el-Din answered wearily, "you don't understand. This was no burglary. The man who murdered Monsieur Arthur murdered him to get my silver box."
"But," objected Desmond, "a silver box! What value has a trifling object like that? My dear young lady, murder is not done for a silver box!"
"No, no," Nur-el-Din repeated, "you don't understand! You don't know what that box contained!"
Then she relapsed into silence, plucking idly at the shred of cambric she held between her fingers.
Already dusk was falling and the room was full of shadows. The golden radiance of the afternoon had died and eerie wraiths of fog were peering-in at the window.
Desmond held his peace. He felt he was on the threshold of a confession that might rend the veil of mystery surrounding the murder at Seven Kings. He stared fixedly at the ugly red tablecloth, conscious that the big eyes of the girl were searching his face.
"You have honest eyes," she said presently. "I told you that once before... that night we met.at your house... do you remember? Your eyes are English. But you are a German, hein?"
"My mother was Irish," said Desmond and felt a momentary relief that, for once, he had been able to speak the truth.
"I want a friend," the girl resumed wearily, "someone that I can trust. But I look around and I find no one. You serve the German Empire, do you not?"
Desmond bowed.
"But not the House of Hohenzollern?" the girl cried, her voice trembling with passion.
"I am not of the Emperor's personal service, if that is what you mean, madame," Desmond returned coldly.
"Then, since you are not altogether an iron Prussian," Nur-el-Din resumed eagerly, "you can differentiate. You can understand that there is a difference between working for the cause of Germany and for the personal business of her princes."
"But certainly," answered Desmond, "I am not an errand boy nor yet a detective. I regard myself as a German officer doing his duty on the front. We have many fronts besides the Western and the Eastern. England is one.
"Ah," exclaimed the girl, clasping her hands together and looking at him with enraptured eyes, "I see you understand! My friend, I am much tempted to make a confidant of you!"
Desmond looked at her but did not speak. Again he felt that silence was now his only role. He tried hard to fix his mind on his duty; but the man in him was occupied with the woman who looked so appealingly at him.
"... but if I do," the girl went on and her voice was hurried and anxious, "you must swear to me that you will respect my confidence, that you will not betray me to the others and that you will, if need be, protect me."
Seeing that Desmond remained silent, she hastened to add:
"Believe me, what I ask you to do is not in opposition to your duty. My friend, for all my surroundings, I am not what I seem. Pate has drawn me into the system of which you form part; but, believe me, I know nothing of the service to which you and Mortimer and the rest belong!"
She spoke with painful earnestness and in a tone so mournful that Desmond felt himself profoundly moved. "If only she is not acting!" he thought, and sought to shake himself free from the spell which this girl seemed able to cast about him at will.
"Promise me that you will respect my confidence and help me!" she said and held out her hand.
Desmond's big