Okewood of the Secret Service [73]
am Mrs. Malplaquet," she said in a pleasant voice. "And you are Mr. Mortimer, I think!"
Mortimer bowed low over her hand.
"Madame, I am charmed to meet one of whom I have heard nothing but praise," he said.
"Verry pretty!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet smiling. "They tell me you have a great way with the ladies, my dear sir!"
"But," she went on, "I am neglecting our host, my dear Mr. Bellward. How are you, my friend? How well you are looking... so young... so fresh! I declare you seem to have got five years younger!"
The keen black eyes searched Desmond's face. He felt horribly uncomfortable. The woman's eyes were like gimlets boring right into him. He suddenly felt that his disguise was a poor one. He remembered Crook's warning to be wary of women, and he inwardly quailed.
"I am so glad to meet you again!" he murmured. He didn't like Mrs. Malplaquet's eyes. They assorted strangely with the rest of her gentle and refined appearance. They were hard and cruel, those black eyes. Thy put him in mind of a snake.
"It is so long since I've seen you," she said, "that positively your voice seems to have changed."
"That's because I have a cold," said Desmond.
"Fiddlesticks!" retorted the lady, "the timbre is quite different! Bellward, I believe you're in love! Don't tell me you've been running after that hank of hair that Mortimer is so devoted to!" She glanced in Mortimer's direction, but that gentleman was engaged in earnest conversation with Behrend and the tall man.
"Whom do you meant" asked Desmond.
"Where are your eyes, man?" rapped out Mrs. Malplaquet. "The dancer woman, of course, Nur-el-what-do-you-call-it. There's the devil of a row brewing about the way our friend over there is neglecting us to run after the minx. They're getting sharp in this country, Bellward--I've lived here for forty years so I know what I'm talking about--and we can't afford to play any tricks. Mortimer will finish by bringing destruction on every one of us. And I shall tell him so tonight. And so will No. 13! And so will young Behrend! You ought to hear Behrend about it!"
Mrs. Malplaquet began to interest Desmond. She was obviously a woman of refinement, and he was surprised to find her in this odd company. By dint of careful questioning, he ascertained the fact that she lived in London, at a house on Campden Hill. She seemed to know a good many officers, particularly naval men.
"I've been keeping my eyes open as I promised, Bellward," she said, "and I believe I've got hold of a likely subject for you--a submarine commander he is, and very psychic. When will you come and meet him at my house?"
Mortimer's voice, rising above the buzz of conversation, checked his reply.
"If you will all sit down," he said, "we'll get down to business."
Despite all distractions, Desmond had been watching for this summons. He had marked down for himself a chair close to the door. For this he now made, after escorting Mrs. Malplaquet to the settee where she sat down beside Behrend. Max took the armchair on the left of the fireplace; while No. 13 perched himself grotesquely on a high music-stool, his long legs curled round the foot. Mortimer stood in his former position on the hearth, his back to the fire.
A very odd-looking band! Desmond commented to himself but he thought he could detect in each of the spies a certain ruthless fanaticism which experience taught him to respect as highly dangerous. And they all had hard eyes!
When they were seated, Mortimer said:
"About the 14th of this month the British Admiralty will begin the work of shipping to France ten divisions of American troops now training in this country. The most extraordinary precautions are being taken to complete this huge undertaking with success. It seems to me that the moment has come for us to demonstrate the efficiency of our new organization."
He looked round at his audience but no one said a word. Desmond felt very distinctly that there was a hostile atmosphere against Mortimer in that room.
"I asked you to come here to-night," Mortimer went
Mortimer bowed low over her hand.
"Madame, I am charmed to meet one of whom I have heard nothing but praise," he said.
"Verry pretty!" replied Mrs. Malplaquet smiling. "They tell me you have a great way with the ladies, my dear sir!"
"But," she went on, "I am neglecting our host, my dear Mr. Bellward. How are you, my friend? How well you are looking... so young... so fresh! I declare you seem to have got five years younger!"
The keen black eyes searched Desmond's face. He felt horribly uncomfortable. The woman's eyes were like gimlets boring right into him. He suddenly felt that his disguise was a poor one. He remembered Crook's warning to be wary of women, and he inwardly quailed.
"I am so glad to meet you again!" he murmured. He didn't like Mrs. Malplaquet's eyes. They assorted strangely with the rest of her gentle and refined appearance. They were hard and cruel, those black eyes. Thy put him in mind of a snake.
"It is so long since I've seen you," she said, "that positively your voice seems to have changed."
"That's because I have a cold," said Desmond.
"Fiddlesticks!" retorted the lady, "the timbre is quite different! Bellward, I believe you're in love! Don't tell me you've been running after that hank of hair that Mortimer is so devoted to!" She glanced in Mortimer's direction, but that gentleman was engaged in earnest conversation with Behrend and the tall man.
"Whom do you meant" asked Desmond.
"Where are your eyes, man?" rapped out Mrs. Malplaquet. "The dancer woman, of course, Nur-el-what-do-you-call-it. There's the devil of a row brewing about the way our friend over there is neglecting us to run after the minx. They're getting sharp in this country, Bellward--I've lived here for forty years so I know what I'm talking about--and we can't afford to play any tricks. Mortimer will finish by bringing destruction on every one of us. And I shall tell him so tonight. And so will No. 13! And so will young Behrend! You ought to hear Behrend about it!"
Mrs. Malplaquet began to interest Desmond. She was obviously a woman of refinement, and he was surprised to find her in this odd company. By dint of careful questioning, he ascertained the fact that she lived in London, at a house on Campden Hill. She seemed to know a good many officers, particularly naval men.
"I've been keeping my eyes open as I promised, Bellward," she said, "and I believe I've got hold of a likely subject for you--a submarine commander he is, and very psychic. When will you come and meet him at my house?"
Mortimer's voice, rising above the buzz of conversation, checked his reply.
"If you will all sit down," he said, "we'll get down to business."
Despite all distractions, Desmond had been watching for this summons. He had marked down for himself a chair close to the door. For this he now made, after escorting Mrs. Malplaquet to the settee where she sat down beside Behrend. Max took the armchair on the left of the fireplace; while No. 13 perched himself grotesquely on a high music-stool, his long legs curled round the foot. Mortimer stood in his former position on the hearth, his back to the fire.
A very odd-looking band! Desmond commented to himself but he thought he could detect in each of the spies a certain ruthless fanaticism which experience taught him to respect as highly dangerous. And they all had hard eyes!
When they were seated, Mortimer said:
"About the 14th of this month the British Admiralty will begin the work of shipping to France ten divisions of American troops now training in this country. The most extraordinary precautions are being taken to complete this huge undertaking with success. It seems to me that the moment has come for us to demonstrate the efficiency of our new organization."
He looked round at his audience but no one said a word. Desmond felt very distinctly that there was a hostile atmosphere against Mortimer in that room.
"I asked you to come here to-night," Mortimer went