Okewood of the Secret Service [90]
dancer might suppose so; while Strangwise might think the same. Therefore, both Strangwise and Nur-el-Din had an interest in detaining Miss Mackwayte, and I think Strangwise forestalled the dancer. When Nur-el-Din discovered it, both Rass and her maid paid the penalty of their betrayal."
They walked once up and down the yard before Desmond replied.
"Francis," he said, "you remember Nur-el-Din's story--I told it to you just as I had it from her."
"Perfectly," answered his brother.
"Well," Desmond went on deliberately, "I think that story gives us the right measure of Nur-el-Din's, character. She may be vain, she may be without morals, she may be weak, she may be an adventuress, but she's not a murderess. If anything, she's a victim!"
Francis laughed shortly.
"Victim be damned!" he cried. "Man alive," he went on, "how can you talk such nonsense in face of the evidence, with this bloody-minded woman's victims hardly cold yet? But, horrible as these murders are, the private squabbles of this gang of spies represent neither your interest nor mine in this case. For us the fact remains that Nur-el-Din, besides being a monster of iniquity, is the heart and soul and vitals of the whole conspiracy!"
Jaded and nervous, Desmond felt a quick sting of resentment at his brother's tone. Why should Francis thus lay down the law to him about Nur-el-Din? Francis knew nothing of the girl or her antecedents while he, Desmond, flattered himself that he had at least located the place she occupied in this dark conspiracy. And he cried out vehemently:
"You're talking like a fool! I grant you that Nur-el-Din has been mixed up with this spy crowd; but she herself stands absolutely apart from the organization..."
"Half a minute!" put in Francis, "aren't you forgetting that blue envelope we took off her just now?"
"What about it?" asked Desmond sharply.
"Merely this; the cipher is in five figure groups, addressed to a four figure group and signed by a six figure group..."
"Well?"
"That happens to be the current secret code of the German Great General Staff. If you were to tap a German staff message out in France to-day, ten to one it would be in that code. Curious coincidence, isn't it?"
When one is angry, to be baffled in argument does not have a sedative effect as a rule. If we were all philosophers it might; but being merely human beings, cold reason acts on the inflamed temperament as a red rag is said to affect a bull.
Desmond, sick with the sense of failure and his anxiety about Barbara, was in no mood to listen to reason. The, cold logic of his brother infuriated him mainly because Desmond knew that Francis was right.
"I don't care a damn for the evidence," vociferated Desmond; "It may look black against Nur-el-Din; I daresay it does; but I have met and talked to this girl and. I tell you again that she is not a principal in this affair but a victim!"
"You talk as if you were in love with the woman!" Francis said mockingly.
Desmond went rather white.
"If pity is a form of love," he replied in a low voice, "then I am, for God knows I never pitied any woman as I pity Nur-el-Din! Only you, I suppose," he added bitterly, "are too much of the policeman, Francis, to appreciate anything like that!" Hot tempers run in families and Francis flared up on the instant.
"I may be a policeman, as you say," he retorted, but I've got enough sense of my duty, I hope, not to allow sentimentality to interfere with my orders!"
It was a shrewd thrust and it caught Desmond on the raw.
"I'm sick of arguing here," he said hotly, "if you're so mighty clever, you'd better shoot Nur-el-Din first and arrest Strangwise afterwards. Then you'll find out which of us two is right!"
He turned on his heel and started for the little bridge leading out onto the fen.
Francis stood still a moment watching him, then ran after him. He caught up with Desmond as the latter reached the bridge.
"Desmond!" he said, pleadingly.
"Oh, go to hell!" retorted the other savagely, whereupon Francis turned his back on him
They walked once up and down the yard before Desmond replied.
"Francis," he said, "you remember Nur-el-Din's story--I told it to you just as I had it from her."
"Perfectly," answered his brother.
"Well," Desmond went on deliberately, "I think that story gives us the right measure of Nur-el-Din's, character. She may be vain, she may be without morals, she may be weak, she may be an adventuress, but she's not a murderess. If anything, she's a victim!"
Francis laughed shortly.
"Victim be damned!" he cried. "Man alive," he went on, "how can you talk such nonsense in face of the evidence, with this bloody-minded woman's victims hardly cold yet? But, horrible as these murders are, the private squabbles of this gang of spies represent neither your interest nor mine in this case. For us the fact remains that Nur-el-Din, besides being a monster of iniquity, is the heart and soul and vitals of the whole conspiracy!"
Jaded and nervous, Desmond felt a quick sting of resentment at his brother's tone. Why should Francis thus lay down the law to him about Nur-el-Din? Francis knew nothing of the girl or her antecedents while he, Desmond, flattered himself that he had at least located the place she occupied in this dark conspiracy. And he cried out vehemently:
"You're talking like a fool! I grant you that Nur-el-Din has been mixed up with this spy crowd; but she herself stands absolutely apart from the organization..."
"Half a minute!" put in Francis, "aren't you forgetting that blue envelope we took off her just now?"
"What about it?" asked Desmond sharply.
"Merely this; the cipher is in five figure groups, addressed to a four figure group and signed by a six figure group..."
"Well?"
"That happens to be the current secret code of the German Great General Staff. If you were to tap a German staff message out in France to-day, ten to one it would be in that code. Curious coincidence, isn't it?"
When one is angry, to be baffled in argument does not have a sedative effect as a rule. If we were all philosophers it might; but being merely human beings, cold reason acts on the inflamed temperament as a red rag is said to affect a bull.
Desmond, sick with the sense of failure and his anxiety about Barbara, was in no mood to listen to reason. The, cold logic of his brother infuriated him mainly because Desmond knew that Francis was right.
"I don't care a damn for the evidence," vociferated Desmond; "It may look black against Nur-el-Din; I daresay it does; but I have met and talked to this girl and. I tell you again that she is not a principal in this affair but a victim!"
"You talk as if you were in love with the woman!" Francis said mockingly.
Desmond went rather white.
"If pity is a form of love," he replied in a low voice, "then I am, for God knows I never pitied any woman as I pity Nur-el-Din! Only you, I suppose," he added bitterly, "are too much of the policeman, Francis, to appreciate anything like that!" Hot tempers run in families and Francis flared up on the instant.
"I may be a policeman, as you say," he retorted, but I've got enough sense of my duty, I hope, not to allow sentimentality to interfere with my orders!"
It was a shrewd thrust and it caught Desmond on the raw.
"I'm sick of arguing here," he said hotly, "if you're so mighty clever, you'd better shoot Nur-el-Din first and arrest Strangwise afterwards. Then you'll find out which of us two is right!"
He turned on his heel and started for the little bridge leading out onto the fen.
Francis stood still a moment watching him, then ran after him. He caught up with Desmond as the latter reached the bridge.
"Desmond!" he said, pleadingly.
"Oh, go to hell!" retorted the other savagely, whereupon Francis turned his back on him