Okewood of the Secret Service [76]
thin, ungainly figure as he drew himself to his full height.
"Ay, comrade, I was," replied Mortimer.
"Then," cried No. 13, "you are..."
"No names, comrade," warned Mortimer, "no names, I beg!"
"No names, no names!" repeated the other and relapsed into his seat in a reverie.
"How I got to England," Mortimer continued, "matters nothing; how I fulfilled my mission is neither here nor there. But I recovered the gem and the proof..."
He thrust a hand into the inner pocket of his coat and plucked out a white paper package sealed up with broad red seals.
Desmond held his breath. It was the white paper package, exactly as Barbara had described.
"Look at it well, Behrend," said Mortimer, holding it up for the young man to see, "it cost me a man's life to get that. If it had sent twenty men to their death, I should have had it just the same!"
Mrs. Malplaquet clapped her hands, her eyes shining.
"Bravo, bravo!" she exclaimed, "that's the spirit! That's the way to talk, Mortimer!"
"Cut it out," snarled Behrend, "and let's see the goods!"
All had left their seats and were gathered in a group about Mortimer as he began to break the gleaming red wag seals. One by one he burst them, the white paper slipped off and disclosed... a box of cigarettes.
Mortimer stood gazing in stupefaction at the gaudy green and gold lettering of the box. Then, running his thumb-nail swiftly along the edge of the box, he broke the paper wrapping, the box burst open and a shower of cigarettes fell to the ground.
"So that's your Star of Poland, is it?" cried Behrend in a mocking voice.
"Wot 'ave yer done wiv' the sparklers, eh?" demanded Max, catching Mortimer roughly by the arm.
But Mortimer stood, aimlessly shaking the empty box in front of him, as though to convince himself that the gem was not there. Behrend fell on his knees and raked the pile of cigarettes over and over with his fingers.
"Nothing there!" he shouted angrily, springing to his feet. "It's all bluff! He's bluffing to the end! See, he doesn't even attempt to find his famous jewel! He knows it isn't there!"
But Mortimer paid no heed. He was staring straight in front of him, a strangely woe-begone figure with his thatch of untidy hair and round goggle eyes. Then the cigarette box fell to the floor with a crash as Mortimer's hands dropped, with, a hopeless gesture, to his sides.
"Barbara Mackwayte!" he whispered in a low voice, not seeming to realize that he was speaking aloud, "so that's what she wanted with Nur-el-Din!"
Desmond was standing at Mortimer's elbow and caught the whisper. As he heard Mortimer speak Barbara's name, he had a sudden premonition that his own unmasking was imminent, though he understood as little of the purport of the other's remark as of the pile of cigarettes lying on the carpet. As Mortimer turned to look at him, Desmond nerved himself to meet the latter's gaze. But Mortimer's face wore the look of a desperate man. There was no recognition in his eyes.
Not so with Desmond. Perhaps the bitterness of his disappointment had made Mortimer careless, perhaps the way in which he had pronounced Barbara's name struck a familiar chord in Desmond's memory. The unkempt hair brushed down across the forehead, the thick glasses, the heavy moustache still formed together an impenetrable mask which Desmond's eyes failed to pierce. But now he recalled the voice. As Mortimer looked at him, the truth dawned on Desmond and he knew that the man standing beside him was Maurice Strangwise, his comrade-in-arms in France.
At that very moment a loud crash rang through the room, a cold blast of damp air came rushing in and the lamp on the table flared up wildly, flickered an instant and went out, leaving the room in darkness save for the glow of the fire.
A deep voice cried:
"May I ask what you are all doing in my house?"
The secret door of the bookshelves had swung back and there, framed in the gaping void, Desmond saw the dark figure of a man.
CHAPTER XIX. THE UNINVITED GUEST
There are moments in life when the
"Ay, comrade, I was," replied Mortimer.
"Then," cried No. 13, "you are..."
"No names, comrade," warned Mortimer, "no names, I beg!"
"No names, no names!" repeated the other and relapsed into his seat in a reverie.
"How I got to England," Mortimer continued, "matters nothing; how I fulfilled my mission is neither here nor there. But I recovered the gem and the proof..."
He thrust a hand into the inner pocket of his coat and plucked out a white paper package sealed up with broad red seals.
Desmond held his breath. It was the white paper package, exactly as Barbara had described.
"Look at it well, Behrend," said Mortimer, holding it up for the young man to see, "it cost me a man's life to get that. If it had sent twenty men to their death, I should have had it just the same!"
Mrs. Malplaquet clapped her hands, her eyes shining.
"Bravo, bravo!" she exclaimed, "that's the spirit! That's the way to talk, Mortimer!"
"Cut it out," snarled Behrend, "and let's see the goods!"
All had left their seats and were gathered in a group about Mortimer as he began to break the gleaming red wag seals. One by one he burst them, the white paper slipped off and disclosed... a box of cigarettes.
Mortimer stood gazing in stupefaction at the gaudy green and gold lettering of the box. Then, running his thumb-nail swiftly along the edge of the box, he broke the paper wrapping, the box burst open and a shower of cigarettes fell to the ground.
"So that's your Star of Poland, is it?" cried Behrend in a mocking voice.
"Wot 'ave yer done wiv' the sparklers, eh?" demanded Max, catching Mortimer roughly by the arm.
But Mortimer stood, aimlessly shaking the empty box in front of him, as though to convince himself that the gem was not there. Behrend fell on his knees and raked the pile of cigarettes over and over with his fingers.
"Nothing there!" he shouted angrily, springing to his feet. "It's all bluff! He's bluffing to the end! See, he doesn't even attempt to find his famous jewel! He knows it isn't there!"
But Mortimer paid no heed. He was staring straight in front of him, a strangely woe-begone figure with his thatch of untidy hair and round goggle eyes. Then the cigarette box fell to the floor with a crash as Mortimer's hands dropped, with, a hopeless gesture, to his sides.
"Barbara Mackwayte!" he whispered in a low voice, not seeming to realize that he was speaking aloud, "so that's what she wanted with Nur-el-Din!"
Desmond was standing at Mortimer's elbow and caught the whisper. As he heard Mortimer speak Barbara's name, he had a sudden premonition that his own unmasking was imminent, though he understood as little of the purport of the other's remark as of the pile of cigarettes lying on the carpet. As Mortimer turned to look at him, Desmond nerved himself to meet the latter's gaze. But Mortimer's face wore the look of a desperate man. There was no recognition in his eyes.
Not so with Desmond. Perhaps the bitterness of his disappointment had made Mortimer careless, perhaps the way in which he had pronounced Barbara's name struck a familiar chord in Desmond's memory. The unkempt hair brushed down across the forehead, the thick glasses, the heavy moustache still formed together an impenetrable mask which Desmond's eyes failed to pierce. But now he recalled the voice. As Mortimer looked at him, the truth dawned on Desmond and he knew that the man standing beside him was Maurice Strangwise, his comrade-in-arms in France.
At that very moment a loud crash rang through the room, a cold blast of damp air came rushing in and the lamp on the table flared up wildly, flickered an instant and went out, leaving the room in darkness save for the glow of the fire.
A deep voice cried:
"May I ask what you are all doing in my house?"
The secret door of the bookshelves had swung back and there, framed in the gaping void, Desmond saw the dark figure of a man.
CHAPTER XIX. THE UNINVITED GUEST
There are moments in life when the