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The Kingdom of the Blind

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

September, 1998  [Etext #1442]
[Date last updated: February 16, 2005]


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The Kingdom of the Blind
by E. Phillips Oppenheim




CHAPTER I

Lady Anselman stood in the centre of the lounge at the Ritz Hotel and
with a delicately-poised forefinger counted her guests. There was the
great French actress who had every charm but youth, chatting
vivaciously with a tall, pale-faced man whose French seemed to be as
perfect as his attitude was correct. The popular wife of a great
actor was discussing her husband's latest play with a Cabinet
Minister who had the air of a school-boy present at an illicit feast.
A very beautiful young woman, tall and fair, with grey-blue eyes and
a wealth of golden, almost yellow hair, was talking to a famous
musician. A little further in the background, a young man in the
uniform of a naval lieutenant was exchanging what seemed to be rather
impressive chaff with a petite but exceedingly good-looking girl.
Lady Anselman counted them twice, glanced at the clock and frowned.

"I can't remember whom we are waiting for!" she exclaimed a little
helplessly to the remaining guest, a somewhat tired-looking publisher
who stood by her side. "I am one short. I dare say it will come to me
in a minute. You know every one, I suppose, Mr. Daniell?"

The publisher shook his head.

"I have met Lord Romsey and also Madame Selarne," he observed. "For
the rest, I was just thinking what a stranger I felt."

"The man who talks French so well," Lady Anselman told him, dropping
her voice a little, "is Surgeon-Major Thomson. He is inspector of
hospitals at the front, or something of the sort. The tall, fair
girl--isn't she pretty!--is Geraldine Conyers, daughter of Admiral
Sir Seymour Conyers. That's her brother, the sailor over there,
talking to Olive Moreton; their engagement was announced last week.
Lady Patrick of course you know, and Signor Scobel, and Adelaide
Cunningham--you do know her, don't you, Mr. Daniell? She is my
dearest friend. How many do you make that?"

The publisher counted them carefully.

"Eleven including ourselves," he announced.

"And we should be twelve," Lady Anselman sighed. "Of course!" she
added, her face suddenly brightening. "What an idiot I am! It's
Ronnie we are waiting for. One can't be cross with him, poor fellow.
He can only just get about."

The fair girl, who had overheard, leaned across. The shade of newly
awakened interest in her face, and the curve of her lips as she
spoke, added to her charm. A gleam of sunlight flashed upon the
yellow-gold of her plainly coiled hair.

"Is it your nephew, Captain Ronald Granet, who is coming?" she asked
a little eagerly.

Lady Anselman nodded.

"He only came home last Tuesday with dispatches from the front," she
said. "This is his first day out."

"Ah! but he is wounded, perhaps?" Madame Selarne inquired
solicitously.

"In the left arm and the right leg," Lady Anselman assented. "I
believe that he has seen some terrible fighting, and we are very
proud of his D. S. O. The only trouble is that he is like all the
others--he will tell us nothing."

"He shows excellent judgment," Lord Romsey observed.

Lady Anselman glanced at her august guest a little querulously.

"That is the principle you go on, nowadays, isn't it?" she remarked. 
"I am not sure that you are wise. When one is told nothing, one fears
the worst, and when time after time the news of these small disasters
reaches us piecemeal, about three weeks late, we never get rid of our
forebodings, even when you tell us about victories. . . . Ah! Here he
comes at last," she added, holding out both her hands to the young
man who was making his somewhat difficult way towards them. "Ronnie,
you are a few minutes late but we're not in the least cross with you.
Do you know that you are looking better already? Come and tell me
whom you don't know of my guests and I'll introduce you."

The young man, leaning upon his stick, greeted his aunt and murmured
a word of apology. He was very fair, and with a slight, reddish
moustache and the remains of freckles upon his face. His grey eyes
were a little sunken, and there were lines about his mouth which one
might have guessed had been brought out recently by pain or suffering
of some sort. His left arm reclined uselessly in a black silk sling.
He glanced around the little assembly.

"First of all," he said, bowing to the French actress and raising her
fingers to his lips, "there is no one who does not know Madame
Selarne. Lady Patrick, we have met before, haven't we? I am going to
see your husband in his new play the first night I am allowed out.
Mr. Daniell I have met, and Lord Romsey may perhaps do me the honour
of remembering me," he added, shaking hands with the Cabinet
Minister.

He turned to face Geraldine Conyers, who had been watching him with
interest. Lady Anselman at once introduced them.

"I know that you haven't met Miss Conyers because she has been asking
about you. This is my nephew Ronnie, Geraldine. I hope that you will
be friends."

The girl murmured something inaudible as she shook hands. The young
soldier looked at her for a moment. His manner became almost serious.

"I hope so, too," he said quietly.

"Olive, come and make friends with my nephew if you can spare a
moment from your young man," Lady Anselman continued. "Captain
Granet--Miss Olive Moreton. And this is Geraldine's
brother--Lieutenant Conyers."

The two men shook hands pleasantly. Lady Anselman  glanced at the
clock and turned briskly towards the corridor.

"And now, I think," she announced, "luncheon."

As she moved forward, she was suddenly conscious of the man who had
been talking to Madame Selarne. He had drawn a little on one side and
he was watching the young soldier with a curious intentness. She
turned back to her nephew and touched him on the arm.

"Ronnie," she said, "I don't know whether you have met Surgeon-Major
Thomson in France? Major Thomson, this is my nephew, Captain Granet."

Granet turned at once and offered his hand to the other man. Only
Geraldine Conyers, who was a young woman given to noticing things,
and who had also reasons of her own for being interested, observed
the rather peculiar scrutiny with which each regarded the other.
Something which might almost have been a challenge seemed to pass
from one to the other.

"I may not have met you personally," Granet admitted, "but if you are
the Surgeon-Major Thomson who has been doing such great things with
the Field Hospitals at the front, then like nearly every poor crock
out there I owe you a peculiar debt of gratitude. You are the man I
mean, aren't you?" the young soldier concluded cordially.

Major Thomson bowed, and a moment later they all made their way along
the corridor, across the restaurant, searched for their names on the
cards and took their places at the table which had been reserved for
them. Lady Anselman glanced around with the scrutinising air of the
professional hostess, to see that her guests were properly seated
before she devoted herself to the Cabinet Minister. She had a word or
two to say to nearly every one of them.

"I have put you next Miss Conyers, Ronnie," she remarked, "because we
give all the good things to our men when they come home from the war.
And I have put you next Olive, Ralph," she went on, turning to the
sailor, "because I hear you are expecting to get your ship to-day or
to-morrow, so you, too, have to be spoiled a little. As a general
rule I don't approve of putting engaged people together, it
concentrates conversation so. And, Lord Romsey," she added, turning
to her neighbour, "please don't imagine for a moment that I am going
to break my promise. We are going to talk about everything in the
world except the war. I know quite well that if Ronnie has had any
particularly thrilling experiences, he won't tell us about them, and
I also know that your brain is packed full of secrets which nothing
in the world would induce you to divulge. We are going to try and
persuade Madame to tell us about her new play," she concluded,
smiling at the French actress, "and there are so many of my friends
on the French stage whom I must hear about."

Lord Romsey commenced his luncheon with an air of relief. He was a
man of little more than middle-age, powerfully built, inclined to be
sombre, with features of a legal type, heavily jawed. "Always
tactful, dear hostess," he murmured. "As a matter of fact, nothing
but the circumstance that it was your invitation and that Madame
Selarne was to be present, brought me here to-day. It is so hard to
avoid speaking of the great things, and for a man in my position," he
added, dropping his voice a little, "so difficult to say anything
worth listening to about them, without at any rate the semblance of
indiscretion."

"We all appreciate that," Lady Anselman assured him sympathetically. 
"Madame Selarne has promised to give us an outline of the new play
which she is producing in Manchester."

"If that would interest you all," Madame Selarne assented, "it
commences--so!"

For a time they nearly all listened in absorbed silence. Her
gestures, the tricks of her voice, the uplifting of her eyebrows and
shoulders--all helped to give life and colour to the little sketch
she expounded. Only those at the remote end of the table ventured
upon an independent conversation. Mrs. Cunningham, the woman whom her
hostess had referred to as being her particular friend, and one who
shared her passion for entertaining, chatted fitfully to her
neighbour, Major Thomson. It was not until luncheon was more than
half-way through that she realised the one-sidedness of their
conversation. She studied him for a moment curiously. There was
something very still and expressionless in his face, even though the
sunshine from the broad high windows which overlooked the Park, was
shining full upon him.

"Tell me about yourself!" she insisted suddenly. "I have been
talking rubbish quite long enough. You have been out, haven't you?"

He assented gravely.

"I went with the first division. At that time I was in charge of a
field hospital."

"And now?"

"I am Chief Inspector of Field Hospitals," he replied.

"You are home on leave?"

"Not exactly," he told her, a shade of stiffness in his manner.
"I have to come over very often on details connected with the
administration of my work."

"I should have known quite well that you were a surgeon," she
observed.

"You are a physiognomist, then?"

"More or less," she admitted. "You see, I love people. I love
having people around me. My friends find me a perfect nuisance, for I
am always wanting to give parties. You have the still, cold face of a
surgeon--and the hands, too," she added, glancing at them.

"You are very observant," he remarked laconically.

"I am also curious," she laughed, "as you are about to discover. 
Tell me why you are so interested in Ronnie Granet? You hadn't met
him before, had you?"

Almost for the first time he turned and looked directly at his
neighbour. She was a woman whose fair hair was turning grey,
well-dressed, sprightly, agreeable. She had a humorous mouth and an
understanding face.

"Captain Granet was a stranger to me," he assented. "One is
naturally interested in soldiers, however."

"You must have met thousands like him," she remarked,--"good-looking,
very British, keen sportsman, lots of pluck, just a little careless,
hating to talk about himself and serious things. I have known him
since he was a boy."

Major Thomson continued to be gravely interested.

"Granet!" he said to himself thoughtfully, "Do I know any of his
people, I wonder?"

"You know some of his connections, of course," Mrs. Cunningham
replied briskly. "Sir Alfred Anselman, for instance, his uncle."

"His father and mother?"

"They are both dead. There is a large family place in Warwickshire,
and a chateau, just now, I am afraid, in the hands of the Germans. It
was somewhere quite close to the frontier. Lady Granet was an
Alsatian. He was to have gone out with the polo team, you know, to
America, but broke a rib just as they were making the selection. He
played cricket for Middlesex once or twice, too and he was Captain of
Oxford the year that they did so well."

"An Admirable Crichton," Major Thomson murmured.

"In sport, at any rate," his neighbour assented. "He has always been
one of the most popular young men about town, but of course the women
will spoil him now."

"Is it my fancy," he asked, "or was he not reported a prisoner?"

"He was missing twice, once for over a week," Mrs. Cunningham
replied. "There are all sorts of stories as to how he got back to the
lines. A perfect young dare-devil, I should think. I must talk to Mr.
Daniell for a few minutes or he will never publish my reminiscences."

She leaned towards her neighbour on the other side and Major Thomson
was able to resume the role of attentive observer, a role which
seemed somehow his by destiny. He listened without apparent interest
to the conversation between Geraldine Conyers and the young man whom
they had been discussing.

"I think," Geraldine complained, "that you are rather overdoing your
diplomatic reticence, Captain Granet. You haven't told me a single
thing. Why, some of the Tommies I have been to see in the hospitals
have been far more interesting than you."

He smiled.

"I can assure you," he protested, "it isn't my fault. You can't
imagine how fed up one gets with things out there, and the newspapers
can tell you ever so much more than we can. One soldier only sees a
little bit of his own corner of the fight, you know."

"But can't you tell me some of your own personal experiences?" she
persisted. "They are so much more interesting than what one reads in
print."

"I never had any," he assured her. "Fearfully slow time we had for
months."

"Of course, I don't believe a word you say," she declared, laughing.

"You're not taking me for a war correspondent, by any chance, are
you?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Your language isn't sufficiently picturesque!  Tell me, when are you
going back?"

"As soon as I can pass the doctors-in a few days, I hope."

"You hope?" she repeated. "Do you really mean that, or do you say it
because it is the proper thing to say?"

He appeared for the moment to somewhat resent her question.

"The fact that I hope to get back," he remarked coldly, "has nothing
whatever to do with my liking my job when I get there. As a matter of
fact, I hate it. At the same time, you can surely understand that
there isn't any other place for a man of my age and profession."

"Of course not," she agreed softly. "I really am sorry that I
bothered you. There is one thing I should like to know, though and
that is how you managed to escape?"

He shook his head but his amiability seemed to have wholly returned. 
His eyes twinkled as he looked at her.

"There we're up against a solid wall of impossibility," he replied. 
"You see, some of our other chaps may try the dodge. I gave them the
tip and I don't want to spoil their chances. By-the-bye, do you know
the man two places down on your left?" he added dropping his voice a
little. "Looks almost like a waxwork figure, doesn't he?"

"You mean Major Thomson?  Yes, I know him," she assented, after a
moment's hesitation. "He is very quiet to-day, but he is really most
interesting."

Their hostess rose and beamed on them all from her end of the table.

"We have decided," she announced, "to take our coffee out in the
lounge."



CHAPTER II

The little party trooped out of the restaurant and made their way to
a corner of the lounge, where tables had already been prepared with
coffee and liqueurs. Geraldine Conyers and Captain Granet, who had
lingered behind, found a table to themselves. Lady Anselman laid her
fingers upon Major Thomson's arm.

"Please talk for a few more minutes to Selarne," she begged. "Your
French is such a relief to her."

He obeyed immediately, although his eyes strayed more than once
towards the table at which Captain Granet and his companion were
seated. Madame Selarne was in a gossipy mood and they found many
mutual acquaintances.

"To speak a foreign language as you do," she told him, "is wonderful.
Is it in French alone, monsieur, that you excel, or are you, perhaps,
a great linguist?"

"I can scarcely call myself that," he replied, "but I do speak
several other languages. In my younger days I travelled a good deal."

"German, perhaps, too?" she inquired with a little grimace.

"I was at a hospital in Berlin," he confessed.

Lady Anselman's party was suddenly increased by the advent of some
acquaintances from an adjoining table, all of whom desired to be
presented to Madame Selarne. Major Thomson, set at liberty, made his
way at once towards the small table at which Captain Granet and
Geraldine Conyers were seated. She welcomed him with a smile.

"Are you coming to have coffee with us?" she asked?

"If I may," he answered. "I shall have to be off in a few minutes."

A waiter paused before their table and offered a salver on which were
several cups of coffee and liqueur glasses. Captain Granet leaned
forward in his place and stretched out his hand to serve his
companion. Before he could take the cup, however, the whole tray had
slipped from the waiter's fingers, caught the corner of the table,
and fallen with its contents on to the carpet. The waiter himself--a
small, undersized person with black, startled eyes set at that moment
in a fixed and unnatural stare--made one desperate effort to save
himself and then fell backwards. Every one turned around, attracted
by the noise of the falling cups and the sharp, half-stifled groan
which broke from the man's lips. Captain Granet sprang to his feet.

"Good heavens!  The fellow's in a fit!" he exclaimed.

The maitre d'hotel and several waiters came hurrying up towards the
prostrate figure, by the side of which Major Thomson was already
kneeling. The manager, who appeared upon the scene as though by
magic, and upon whose face was an expression of horror that his
clients should have been so disturbed, quickly gave his orders. The
man was picked up and carried away. Major Thomson followed behind.
Two or three waiters in a few seconds succeeded in removing the
debris of the accident, the orchestra commenced a favourite waltz.
The maitre d'hotel apologised to the little groups of people for the
commotion--they were perhaps to blame for having employed a young man
so delicate--he was scarcely fit for service.

"He seemed to be a foreigner," Lady Anselman remarked, as the man
addressed his explanations to her.

"He was a Belgian, madam. He was seriously wounded at the
commencement of the war. We took him direct from the hospital."

"I hope the poor fellow will soon recover," Lady Anselman declared. 
"Please do not think anything more of the affair so far as we are
concerned. You must let me know later on how he is."

The maitre d'hotel retreated with a little bow. Geraldine turned to
Captain Granet.

"I think," she said, "that you must be very kind-hearted, for a
soldier."

He turned and looked at her.

"Why?"

"You must have been so many horrible sights--so many dead people, and
yet--"

"Well?" he persisted.

"There was something in your face when the man staggered back, a kind
of horror almost. I am sure you felt it quite as much as any of us."

He was silent for a moment.

"In a battlefield," he observed slowly, "one naturally becomes a
little callous, but here it is different. The fellow did look ghastly
ill, didn't he? I wonder what was really the matter with him."

"We shall know when Major Thomson returns," she said.

Granet seemed scarcely to hear her words. A curious fit of
abstraction had seized him. His head was turned towards the corridor,
he seemed to be waiting.

"Queer sort of stick, Thomson," he remarked presently. "Is he a
great friend of yours, Miss Conyers?"

She hesitated for a moment.

"I have known him for some time."

Something in her tone seemed to disturb him. He leaned towards her
quickly. His face had lost its good-humoured indifference. He was
evidently very much in earnest.

"Please don't think me impertinent," he begged, "but--is he a very
great friend?"

She did not answer. She was looking over his shoulder towards where
Major Thomson, who had just returned, was answering a little stream
of questions.

"The man is in a shockingly weak state," he announced. "He is a
Belgian, has been wounded and evidently subjected to great
privations. His heart is very much weakened. He had a bad fainting
fit, but with a long rest he may recover."

The little party broke up once more into groups. Granet, who had
drawn for a moment apart and seemed to be adjusting the knots of his
sling, turned to Thomson.

"Has he recovered consciousness yet?" he asked.

"Barely," was the terse reply.

"There was no special cause for his going off like that, I suppose?"

Surgeon-Major Thomson's silence was scarcely a hesitation. He was
standing perfectly still, his eyes fixed upon the young soldier.

"At present," he said, "I am not quite clear about that. If you are
ready, Geraldine?"

She nodded and they made their farewells to Lady Anselman. Granet
looked after them with a slight frown. He drew his aunt on one side
for a moment.

"Why is Miss Conyers here without a chaperon?" he asked. "And why
did she go away with Thomson?"

Lady Anselman laughed.

"Didn't she tell you?"

"Tell me what?" he insisted eagerly.

Lady Anselman looked at her nephew curiously.

"Evidently," she remarked, "your progress with the young lady was not
so rapid as it seemed, or she would have told you her secret--which,
by-the-bye, isn't a secret at all. She and Major Thomson are engaged
to be married."



CHAPTER III

A few rays of fugitive sunshine were brightening Piccadilly when
Geraldine and her escort left the Ritz. The momentary depression
occasioned by the dramatic little episode of a few minutes ago,
seemed already to have passed from the girl's manner. She walked on,
humming to herself. As they paused to cross the road, she glanced as
though involuntarily at her companion. His dark morning clothes and
rather abstracted air created an atmosphere of sombreness about him
of which she was suddenly conscious.

"Hugh, why don't you wear uniform in town?" she asked.

"Why should I?" he replied. "After all, I am not really a fighting
man, you see."

"It's so becoming," she sighed.

He seemed to catch the reminiscent flash in her eyes as she looked
down the street, and a shadow of foreboding clouded his mind.

"You found Captain Granet interesting?"

"Very," she assented heartily. "I think he is delightful, don't
you?"

"He certainly seems to be a most attractive type of young man,"
Thomson admitted.

"And how wonderful to have had such adventures!" she continued. 
"Life has become so strange, though, during the last few months. To
think that the only time I ever saw him before was at a polo match,
and to-day we sit side by side in a restaurant, and, although he
won't speak of them, one knows that he has had all manner of
marvellous adventures. He was one of those who went straight from the
playing fields to look for glory, wasn't he, Hugh? He made a hundred
and thirty-two for Middlesex the day before the war was declared."

"That's the type of young soldier who's going to carry us through, if
any one can," Major Thomson agreed cheerfully.

She suddenly clutched at his arm.

"Hugh," she exclaimed, pointing to a placard which a newsboy was
carrying, "that is the one thing I cannot bear, the one thing which I
think if I were a man would turn me into a savage!"

They both paused and read the headlines--

PASSENGER STEAMER TORPEDOED WITHOUT WARNING IN THE IRISH SEA. 
TWENTY-TWO LIVES LOST.

"That is the sort of thing," she groaned, "which makes one long to be
not a man but a god, to be able to wield thunderbolts and to deal out
hell!"

"Good for you, Gerry," a strong, fresh voice behind them declared. 
"That's my job now. Didn't you hear us shouting after you, Olive and
I? Look!"

Her brother waved a telegram.

"You've got your ship?" Thomson inquired.

"I've got what I wanted," the young man answered enthusiastically. 
"I've got a destroyer, one of the new type--forty knots an hour, a
dear little row of four-inch guns, and, my God! something else, I
hope, that'll teach those murderers a lesson," he added, shaking his
fist towards the placard.

Geraldine laid her hand upon her brother's arm.

"When do you join, Ralph?"

"To-morrow night at Portsmouth," he replied. "I'm afraid we shall be
several days before we are at work. It's the _Scorpion_ they're
giving me, Gerald--or the mystery ship, as they call it in the navy."

"Why?" she asked.

His rather boyish face, curiously like his sister's, was suddenly
transformed.

"Because we've got a rod in pickle for those cursed pirates--"

"Conyers!" Thomson interrupted.

The young man paused in his sentence. Thomson was looking towards
him with a slight frown upon his forehead.

"Don't think I'm a fearful old woman," he said. "I know we are all
rather fed up with these tales of spies and that sort of thing, but
do you think it's wise to even open your lips about a certain
matter?"

"What the dickens do you know about it?" Conyers demanded.

"Nothing," Thomson assured him hastily, "nothing at all. I am only
going by what you said yourself. If there is any device on the
_Scorpion_ for dealing with these infernal craft, I'd never breathe a
word about it, if I were you. I'd put out to sea with a seal upon my
lips, even before Geraldine here and Miss Moreton."

The young man's cheeks were a little flushed.

"Perhaps you're right," he admitted. "I was a little over-excited. 
To get the _Scorpion_ was more, even, than I had dared to hope for.
Still, before the girls it didn't seem to matter very much. There are
no spies, anyhow, hiding in the trees of Berkeley Street," he added,
glancing about them.

Thomson held up his finger and stopped a taxicab.

"You won't be annoyed with me, will you?" he said to Conyers. "If
you'd heard half the stories I had of the things we have given away
quite innocently--"

"That's all right," the young man interrupted, "only you mustn't
think I'm a gas-bag just because I said a word or two here before
Gerry and Olive and you, old fellow."

"Must you go, Hugh?" Geraldine asked.

"I am so sorry," he replied, "but I must. I really have rather an
important appointment this afternoon."

"An appointment!" she grumbled. "You are in London for so short a
time and you seem to be keeping appointments all the while. I sha'n't
let you go unless you tell me what it's about."

"I have to inspect a new pattern of camp bedstead," he explained
calmly. "If I may, I will telephone directly I am free and see if you
are at liberty."

She shrugged her shoulders but gave him a pleasant little nod as he
stepped into the taxi.

"Sober old stick, Thomson," her brother observed, as they started
off. "I didn't like his pulling me up like that but I expect he was
right."

"I don't see what business it was of his and I think it was rather
horrid of him," Olive declared. "As though Gerry or I mattered!"

"A chap like Thomson hasn't very much discretion, you see," Ralph
Conyers remarked. "You'll have to wake him up a bit, Gerry, if you
mean to get any fun out of life."

There was just the faintest look of trouble in Geraldine's face. She
remained perfectly loyal, however.

"Some of us take life more seriously than others," she sighed. "Hugh
is one of them. When one remembers all the terrible things he must
have seen, though, it is very hard to find fault with him."

They turned into the Square and paused before Olive's turning.

"You're coming down with me, Ralph, and you too, Geraldine?" she
invited.

Conyers shook his head regretfully.

"I'm due at the Admiralty at four to receive my final instructions,"
he said. "I must move along at once."

The smile suddenly faded from his lips. He seemed to be listening to
the calling of the newsboys down the street. "I don't know what my
instructions are going to be," he continued, dropping his voice a
little, "but I'm sick of making war the way our chaps are doing it.
If ever I'm lucky enough to get one of those murderous submarines, I
can promise you one thing--there'll be no survivors."

For a moment or two they neither of them spoke. From out of the
windows of the house before which they were standing came the music
of a popular waltz. Olive turned a way with a little shiver.

"You think I'm brutal, dear," Conyers went on, as he patted her hand.
"Remember, I've seen men killed--that's what makes the difference,
Olive. Yes, I am different! We are all different, we who've tackled
the job. Thomson's different. Your young man at luncheon,
Geraldine--what's his name?--Granet--he's different. There's
something big and serious grown up inside us, and the brute is
looking out. It has to be. I'll come in later, Olive. Tell the mater
I shall be home to dinner, Geraldine. The governor's waiting down at
the Admiralty for me. Good-bye, girls!"

He waved his hand and strode down towards the corner of the Square. 
Both girls watched him for a few moments. His shoulders were as
square as ever but something had gone from the springiness of his
gait. There was nothing left of the sailor's jaunty swagger.

"They are all like that," Geraldine whispered "when they've been face
to face with the real thing. And we are only women, Olive."



CHAPTER IV

Surgeon-Major Thomson had apparently forgotten his appointment to
view camp bedsteads, for, a few minutes after he had left Geraldine
and her brother, his taxicab set him down before a sombre-looking
house in Adelphi Terrace. He passed through the open doorway, up two
flights of stairs, drew a key of somewhat peculiar shape from his
pocket and opened a door in front of him. He found himself in a very
small hall, from which there was no egress save through yet another
door, through which he passed and stepped into a large but singularly
bare-looking apartment. Three great safes were ranged along one side
of the wall, piles of newspapers and maps were strewn all over a long
table, and a huge Ordnance map of the French and Belgian Frontiers
stood upon an easel. The only occupant of the apartment was a man who
was sitting before a typewriter in front of the window. He turned his
head and rose at Thomson's entrance, a rather short, keen-looking
young man, his face slightly pitted with smallpox, his mouth hard and
firm, his eyes deep-set and bright.

"Anything happened, Ambrose?"

"A dispatch, sir," was the brief reply.

"From the War Office?"

"No, sir, it came direct."

Thomson drew the thin sheet of paper from its envelope and swept a
space for himself at the corner of the table. Then he unlocked one of
the safes and drew out from an inner drawer a parchment book bound in
brown vellum. He spread out the dispatch and read it carefully. It
had been handed in at a town near the Belgian frontier about eight
hours before:--

Fifty thousand camp bedsteads are urgently required for neighbourhood
of La Guir. Please do your best for us, the matter is urgent. Double
mattress if possible. London.

For a matter of ten minutes Thomson was busy with his pencil and the
code-book. When he had finished, he studied thoughtfully the message
which he had transcribed:--

Plans for attack on La Guir communicated. Attack foiled. Believe
Smith in London.

"Anything important, sir?" the young man at the typewriter asked.

Thomson nodded but made no immediate reply. He first of all
carefully destroyed the message which he had received, and the
transcription, and watched the fragments of paper burn into ashes.
Then he replaced the code-book in the safe, which he carefully
locked, and strolled towards the window. He stood for several minutes
looking out towards the Thames.

"The same thing has happened again at La Guir," he said at last.

"Any clue?"

"None. They say that he is in London now."

The two men looked at one another for a moment in grave silence. 
Ambrose leaned back in his chair and frowned heavily.

"Through our lines, through Boulogne, across the Channel, through
Dover Station, out of Charing-Cross, through our own men and the best
that Scotland Yard could do for us. In London, eh?"

Thomson's face twitched convulsively. His teeth had come together
with a little snap.

"You needn't play at being headquarters, Ambrose," he said hoarsely. 
"I know it seems like a miracle but there's a reason for that."

"What is it?" Ambrose asked.

"Only a few weeks after the war began," Thomson continued
thoughtfully, "two French generals, four or five colonels, and over
twenty junior and non-commissioned officers were court-martialled for
espionage. The French have been on the lookout for that sort of
thing. We haven't. There isn't one of these men who are sitting in
judgment upon us to-day, Ambrose, who would listen to me for a single
moment if I were to take the bull by the horns and say that the
traitor we seek is one of ourselves."

"You're right," Ambrose murmured, "but do you believe it?"

"I do," Thomson asserted. "It isn't only the fact of the attacks
themselves miscarrying, but it's the knowledge on the other side of
exactly how best to meet that attack. It's the exact knowledge they
have as to our dispositions, our most secret and sudden change of
tactics. We've suffered enough, Ambrose, in this country from civil
spies--the Government are to blame for that. But there are plenty of
people who go blustering about, declaring that two of our Cabinet
Ministers ought to be hung, who'd turn round and give you the life if
you hinted for a moment that the same sort of thing in a far worse
degree was going on amongst men who are wearing the King's uniform."

"It's ugly," Ambrose muttered, "damned ugly!"

"Look at me," Major Thomson continued thoughtfully. "Every secret
connected with our present and future plans practically passes
through my hands, yet no one watches me. Whisper a word at the War
Office that perhaps it would be as well--just for a week, say--to
test a few of my reports, and they'd laugh at you with the air of
superior beings listening to the chatter of a fool. Yet what is there
impossible about it? I may have some secret vice--avarice, perhaps.
Germany would give me the price of a kingdom for all that I could
tell them. Yet because I am an English officer I am above all
suspicion. It's magnificent, Ambrose, but it's damnably foolish."

The young man watched his chief for several moments. Thomson was
standing before the window, the cold spring light falling full upon
his face, with its nervous lines and strongly-cut, immobile features.
He felt a curious indisposition to speak, a queer sort of desire to
wait on the chance of hearing more.

"A single kink in my brain," Thomson continued, "a secret weakness,
perhaps even a dash of lunacy, and I might be quite reasonably the
master-spy of the world. I was in Berlin six weeks ago, Ambrose.
There wasn't a soul who ever knew it. I made no report, on purpose."

"Perhaps they knew and said nothing," Ambrose suggested softly.

There was a moment's silence. Thomson seemed to be considering the
idea with strange intensity. Then he shook his head.

"I think not," he decided. "When the history of this war is written,
Ambrose, with flamboyant phrases and copious rhetoric, there will be
unwritten chapters, more dramatic, having really more direct effect
upon the final issue than even the great battles which have seemed
the dominant factors. Sit tight here, Ambrose, and wait. I may be
going over to Boulogne at any hour."

Thomson pushed on one side the curtains which concealed an inner
room, and passed through. In a quarter of an hour he reappeared,
dressed in uniform. His tone, his bearing, his whole manner were
changed. He walked with a springier step, he carried a little cane
and he was whistling softly to himself.

"I am going to one or two places in the Tottenham Court Road, by
appointment," he announced, "to inspect some new patterns of camp
bedsteads. You can tell them, if they ring up from Whitehall, that
I'll report myself later in the evening."

Curiously enough, the other man, too had changed as though in
sympathetic deference to his superior officer. He had become simply
the obedient and assiduous secretary.

"Very good, sir," he said smoothly. "I'll do my best to finish the
specifications before you return."



CHAPTER V

Lord Romsey, after his luncheon-party, spent an hour at his official
residence in Whitehall and made two other calls on his way home. His
secretary met him in the spacious hall of his house in Portland
Square, a few moments after he had resigned his coat and hat to the
footman.

"There is a gentleman here to see you who says that he made an
appointment by telephone, sir," he announced. "His name is
Sidney--the Reverend Horatio Sidney, he calls himself."

Lord Romsey stood for a moment without reply. His lips had come
together in a hard, unpleasant line. It was obvious that this was by
no means a welcome visitor.

"I gave no appointment, Ainsley," he remarked. "I simply said that I
would see the gentleman when he arrived in England. You had better
bring him to my study," he continued, "and be careful that no one
interrupts us."

The young man withdrew and the Cabinet Minister made his way to his
study. A little of the elasticity, however, had gone from his
footsteps and he seated himself before his desk with the air of a man
who faces a disagreeable quarter of an hour. He played for a moment
with a pen-holder.

"The skeleton in the cupboard," he muttered to himself gloomily. 
"Even the greatest of us," he added, with a momentary return of his
more inflated self, "have them."

There was a knock at the door and the secretary reappeared, ushering
in this undesired visitor.

"This is Mr. Sidney, sir," he announced quietly.

The Cabinet Minister rose in his place and held out his hand in his
best official style, a discrete mixture of reserve and condescension.
His manner changed, however, the moment the door was closed. He
withdrew his hand, which the other had made no attempt to grasp.

"I am according you the interview you desire," he said, pointing to a
chair, "but I shall be glad if you will explain the purport of your
visit in as few words as possible. You will, I hope, appreciate the
fact that your presence here is a matter of grave embarrassment to
me."

Mr. Sidney bowed. He was a tall and apparently an elderly man,
dressed with the utmost sobriety. He accepted the chair without undue
haste, adjusted a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles and took some papers
from his pocket.

"Sir," he began, speaking deliberately but without any foreign
accent, "I am here to make certain proposals to you on behalf of a
person who at your own request shall be nameless."

Lord Romsey frowned ponderously and tapped the desk by his side with
his thick forefinger.

"I cannot prevent your speaking, of course," he said, "but I wish you
to understand from the first that I am not in a position to deal with
any messages or communications from your master, whoever he may be,
or any one else in your country."

"Nevertheless," the other remarked drily, "my message must be
delivered."

An impulse of curiosity struggled through the gloom and apprehension
of Lord Romsey's manner. He gazed at his visitor with knitted brows.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "An Englishman?"

"It is of no consequence," was the colourless reply.

"But it is of consequence," Lord Romsey insisted. "You have dared to
proclaim yourself an ambassador to me from a country with whom
England is at war. Even a discussion between us amounts almost to
treason. On second thoughts I decline to receive you."

He held out his hand towards the electric bell which stood on his
study table. His visitor shook his head.

"I wouldn't adopt that attitude, if I were you," he said calmly. 
"You know why. If you are really curious about my nationality, there
is no harm in telling you that I am an American citizen, that I have
held for three years the post of American chaplain at Brussels.
Better let me say what I have come to say."

Lord Romsey hesitated. His natural propensity for temporising
asserted itself and his finger left the bell. The other continued.

"You are in the unfortunate position, Lord Romsey, of having failed
absolutely in your duty towards your own country, and having grossly
and traitorously deceived a personage who has always treated you with
the greatest kindness. I am here to see if it is possible for you to
make some amends."

"I deny every word you say," the Minister declared passionately, "and
I refuse to hear your proposition."

Mr Sidney's manner suddenly changed. He leaned forward in his chair.

"Do not be foolish," he advised. "Your last letter to a certain
personage was dated June second. I have a copy of it with me. Shall I
read it to you, word by word?"

"Thank you, I remember enough of it," Lord Romsey groaned.

"You will listen, then to what I have to say," the envoy proceeded,
"or that letter will be published in the Times to-morrow morning. You
know what that will mean--your political ruin, your everlasting
disgrace. What use will this country, blinded at the present moment
by prejudice, have for a statesman, who without authority, pledged
his Government to an alliance with Germany, who over his own
signature--"

"Stop!" Lord Romsey interrupted. "There is no purpose in this. What
is it you want?"

"Your influence in the Cabinet. You are responsible for this war. 
It is for you to end it."

"Rubbish!" the other exclaimed hoarsely. "You are attempting to
saddle me with a responsibility like this, simply because my personal
sympathies have always been on the side of the country you are
representing."

"It is not a question of your personal sympathies," Mr. Sidney
returned swiftly. "In black and white you pledged your Government to
abstain from war against Germany."

"How could I tell," the statesman protested, "that Germany was
thinking of tearing up treaties, of entering into a campaign of sheer
and scandalous aggression?"

"You made no stipulations or conditions in what you wrote," was the
calm reply. "You pledged your word that your Government would never
declare war against Germany. You alluded to the French entente as an
unnatural one. You spoke eloquently of the kinship of spirit between
England and Germany."

Lord Romsey moved uneasily in his chair. He had expected to find
this an unpleasant interview and he was certainly not being
disappointed.

"Well, I was mistaken," he admitted. "What I said was true enough. 
I never did believe that the Government with which I was associated
would declare war against Germany. Even now, let me tell you that
there isn't a soul breathing who knows how close the real issue was.
If your people had only chosen any other line of advance!"

"I have not come here to recriminate," Mr. Sidney declared. "That is
not my mission. I am here to state our terms for refraining from
sending your letters--your personal letters to the Kaiser--to the
English Press."

Lord Romsey sprang to his feet.

"Good God, man!  Do you know what you are saying?" he exclaimed.

"Perfectly," the other replied. "I told you that my errand was a
serious one. Shall I proceed?"

The Minister slowly resumed his seat. From behind the electric lamp
his face was ghastly white. In that brief pause which followed he
seemed to be looking through the walls of the room into an ugly
chapter of his future. He saw the headlines in the newspapers, the
leading articles, the culmination of all the gossip and mutterings of
the last few months, the end of his political career--a disgraceful
and ignoble end! Surely no man had ever been placed in so painful a
predicament. It was treason to parley. It was disgraceful to send
this man away.

"Germany wants peace," his visitor continued calmly. "She may not
have accomplished all she wished to have accomplished by this war,
and she is still as strong as ever from a military point of view, but
she wants peace. I need say no more than that."

Lord Romsey shook his head.

"Even if I had the influence, which I haven't," he began, "it isn't a
matter of the Government at all. The country would never stand it."

"Then you had better convert the country," was the prompt reply. 
"Look upon it as your duty. Remember this--you are the man in all
this world, and not the Kaiser, who is responsible for this war. But
for your solemn words pledging your country to neutrality, Germany
would never have forced the issue as she has done. Now it is for you
to repair the evil. I tell you that we want peace. The first
overtures may come ostensibly through Washington, if you will, but
they must come in reality from you."

The Minister leaned back in his chair. His was the calmness of
despair.

"You might as well ask me," he said simply, "to order our Fleet out
of the North Sea."

Mr. Sidney rose to his feet.

"I think," he advised, "that you had better try what you can do, Lord
Romsey. We shall give you little time. We may even extend it, if we
find traces of your influence. You have two colleagues, at least, who
are pacifists at heart. Take them on one side, talk in a whisper at
first. Plant just a little seed but be careful that it grows. We do
not expect impossibilities, only--remember what failure will mean to
you."

Lord Romsey looked steadfastly at his visitor. Mr. Sidney was tall
and spare, and there was certainly nothing of the Teuton or the
American in his appearance or accent. His voice was characterless,
his restraint almost unnatural. Relieved of his more immediate fears,
the Minister was conscious of a renewed instinct of strong curiosity.

"How can I communicate with you, Mr.--Sidney?" he asked.

"In no way," the other replied. "When I think it advisable I shall
come to see you again."

"Are you an American or a German or an Englishman?"

"I am whichever I choose for the moment," was the cool response. "If
you doubt my credentials, I can perhaps establish myself in your
confidence by repeating the conversation which took place between you
and the Kaiser on the terrace of the Imperial Palace at Potsdam
between three and four o'clock on the afternoon of April the seventh.
You gave the Kaiser a little character sketch of your colleagues in
the Cabinet, and you treated with ridicule the bare idea that one or
two of them, at any rate, would ever consent--"

"That will do," the Minister interrupted hoarsely.

"Just as you will," the other observed. "I wish you good-day, sir. 
The issue is before you now quite plainly. Let us soon be able to
appreciate the effect of your changed attitude."

Lord Romsey touched his bell in silence and his visitor took a grave
and decorous leave. He walked with the secretary down the hall.

"These are sad days for all of us," he said benignly. "I have been
telling Lord Romsey of some of my experiences in Brussels. I was
American chaplain at the new church there when the war broke out. I
have seen sights which I shall never forget, horrors the memory of
which will never leave me."

The secretary nodded sympathetically. He was trying to get off
early, however, and he had heard a good deal already about Belgium.

"Will you let one of the servants fetch you a taxicab?" he suggested.

"I prefer to walk a little distance," Mr. Sidney replied. "I am
quite at home in London. I was once, in fact, invited to take up a
pastorate here. I wish you good-day, sir. I have had a most
interesting conversation with your chief, a conversation which will
dwell for a long time in my memory."

The secretary bowed and Mr. Sidney walked slowly to the corner of the
Square. Arrived there, he hailed a passing taxicab which drew up at
once by the side of the kerb. In stepping in, he brushed the shoulder
of a man who had paused to light a cigarette. He lingered for a
moment to apologise.

"I beg your pardon," he commenced--

For a single moment his self-possession seemed to desert him. He
looked into the cold, incurious face of the man in an officer's
uniform who was already moving away, as though he had seen a ghost.
His hesitation was a matter of seconds only, however.

"It was very clumsy of me," he concluded.

Major Thomson touched his cap as he moved off.

"Quite all right," he said serenely.



CHAPTER VI

The room was a study in masculine luxury. The brown walls were hung
with a choice selection of sporting prints, varied here and there
with silverpoint etchings of beautiful women in various poses. There
were a good many photographs, mostly signed, above the mantelpiece; a
cigar cabinet, a case of sporting-rifles and shot guns, some fishing
tackle, a case of books, distributed appropriately about the
apartment. There were some warlike trophies displayed without
ostentation, a handsome writing-table on which stood a telephone. On
a thick green rug stretched in front of the fireplace, a fox terrier
lay blinking at the wood fire. The room was empty and silent except
for the slow ticking of an ancient clock which stood underneath an
emblazoned coat of arms in the far corner. The end of a log broke off
and fell hissing into the hearth. The fox terrier rose reluctantly to
his feet, shook himself and stood looking at the smoking fragment in
an aggrieved manner. Satisfied that no personal harm was intended to
him, however, he presently curled himself up once more. Again the
apartment seemed to become the embodiment of repose. The clock, after
a hoarse wheezing warning, struck seven. The dog opened one eye and
looked up at it. A few minutes later, the peace of the place was
broken in a different fashion. There was the sound of a key being
hastily fitted into the lock of the outside door. The dog rose to his
feet expectantly. The door which led into the apartment was thrown
open and hastily slammed to. A man, breathing heavily, stood for a
moment upon the threshold, his head stooped a little as though
listening. Then, without a glance, even, at the dog who jumped to
greet him, he crossed the room with swift, stealthy footsteps. Before
he could reach the other side, however, the door which faced him was
opened. A man-servant looked inquiringly out.

"My bath and clothes, Jarvis, like hell!"

The man gilded away, his master following close behind. From
somewhere further inside the flat, the sound of water running into a
bath was heard. The door was closed, again there was silence. The fox
terrier, after a few moments' scratching at the door, resumed his
place upon the rug and curled himself up to renewed slumber.

The next interruption was of a different nature. The sharp,
insistent summons of an electric bell from outside rang through the
room. In a moment or two the man-servant appeared from the inner
apartment, crossed the floor and presently reappeared, ushering in a
visitor.

"Captain Granet is changing for dinner at present, sir," he
explained. "If you will take a seat, however, he will be out
presently. What name shall I say?"

"Surgeon-Major Thomson."

The servant wheeled an easy-chair up towards the fire and placed by
its side a small table on which were some illustrated papers. Then,
with a little bow, he disappeared through the inner door. Major
Thomson, who had been fingering the Sketch, laid it down the moment
the door was closed. He leaned forward, his face a little strained.
He had the air of listening intently. After a brief absence the man
returned.

"Captain Granet will be with you in a few moments, sir," he
announced.

"Please ask him not to hurry," Major Thomson begged.

"Certainly, sir."

The man withdrew and once more Thomson and the dog were alone. The
latter, having made a few overtures of friendship which passed
unnoticed, resumed his slumbers. Major Thomson sat upright in his
easy-chair, an illustrated paper in his hand. All the time, however,
his eyes seemed to be searching the room. His sense of listening was
obviously quickened; he had the air, even, of thinking rapidly.
Five--ten minutes passed. Then voices were heard from within and the
door was suddenly opened. Captain Granet emerged and crossed the
room, hobbling slightly towards his visitor.

"Awfully sorry to keep you like this," he remarked pleasantly. "The
fact is I'd just got into my bath."

"I ought to apologise," his visitor replied, "for calling at such a
time."

"Glad to see you, anyway," the other declared, pausing at his
smoking-cabinet and bringing out some cigarettes. "Try one of these,
won't you?"

"Not just now, thanks."

There was a moment's pause. Major Thomson seemed in no hurry to
explain himself.

"Jolly luncheon party, wasn't it?" Granet remarked, lighting a
cigarette for himself with some difficulty. "What an idiot it makes a
fellow feel to be strapped up like this!"

"From what one reads of the fighting around Ypres," the other
replied, "you were lucky to get out of it so well. Let me explain, if
I may, why I have paid you this rather untimely call."

Captain Granet nodded amiably. He had made himself comfortable in an
easy-chair and was playing with the dog, who had jumped on to his
knee.

"I had some conversation on Thursday last," Major Thomson began,
"with the Provost-Marshal of Boulogne. As you, of course, know, we
have suffered a great deal, especially around Ypres, from the
marvellous success of the German Intelligence Department. The
Provost-Marshal, who is a friend of mine, told me that there was a
special warning out against a person purporting to be an American
chaplain who had escaped from Belgium. You don't happen to have heard
of him, I suppose, do you?"

Captain Granet looked doubtful.

"Can't remember that I have," he replied. "They've been awfully
clever, those fellows, though. The last few nights before our little
scrap they knew exactly what time our relief parties came along.
Several times we changed the hour. No use! They were on to us just
the same."

Major Thompson nodded.

"Well," he continued, "I happened to catch sight of a man who exactly
resembled the photograph which my friend the Provost-Marshal showed
me, only a few minutes ago, and although I could not be sure of it, I
fancied that he entered this building. It occurred to me that he
might be paying a call upon you."

"Upon me?" he repeated.

"He is an exceedingly plausible fellow," Thomson explained, "and as
you are just back from the Front, and brought dispatches, he might
very possibly regard you as a likely victim."

"Can't make bricks without straw," Granet laughed, "and I know no
more about the campaign than my two eyes have seen. I was saying only
yesterday that, unless you have a staff billet, it's wonderful how
little the ordinary soldier picks up as to what is going on. As a
matter of fact, though," he went on, twisting the fox terrier's ear a
little, "no one has called here at all except yourself, during the
last hour or two. There aren't many of my pals know I'm back yet."

"Are there many other people living in the building?" Major Thomson
asked.

"The ground-floor here," the other replied, "belongs to a prosperous
cigarette manufacturer who lives himself upon the first floor. This
is the second and above us are nothing but the servants' quarters. I
should think," he concluded thoughtfully, "that you must have been
mistaken about the fellow turning in here at all."

Thomson nodded.

"Very likely," he admitted. "It was just a chance, any way."

"By-the-bye," Granet inquired curiously, looking up from the dog,
"how did you know that I roomed here?"

"I happened to see you come in, or was it go out, the other day--I
can't remember which," Major Thomson replied.

The telephone upon the table tinkled out a summons. Granet crossed
the room and held the receiver to his ear.

"This is Captain Granet speaking," he said. "Who are you, please?"

The reply seemed to surprise him. He glanced across at his visitor.

"I shall be delighted," he answered into the instrument. "It is
really very kind of you. . . . About a quarter past eight? . . .
Certainly! You'll excuse my not being able to get into mufti, won't
you? . . . Ever so many thanks. . . . Good-bye!"

He laid down the receiver and turned to Thomson.

"Rather a coincidence," he observed. "Seems I am going to see you
to-night at dinner. That was Miss Geraldine Conyers who just rang
up--asked me if I'd like to meet her brother again before he goes
off. He is spending the afternoon at the Admiralty and she thought I
might be interested."

Major Thomson's face was expressionless and his murmured word
non-committal. Granet had approached the dark mahogany sideboard and
was fingering some bottles.

"Let me mix you a cocktail," he suggested. "By Jove! That fellow
Conyers would be the fellow for your American chaplain to get hold
of. If he is spending the afternoon down at the Admiralty, he'll have
all the latest tips about how they mean to deal with the submarines.
I hear there are at least three or four new inventions which they are
keeping dark. You like yours dry, I suppose?"

Thomson had risen to his feet and leaned forward towards the mirror
for a moment to straighten his tie. When he turned around, he glanced
at the collection of bottles Granet had been handling.

"I am really very sorry," he said. "I did not mean to put you to
this trouble. I never drink cocktails."

Granet paused in shaking the silver receptacle, and laid it down.

"Have a whisky and soda instead?"

Thomson shook his head.

"If you will excuse me," he said, "I will drink your health at
dinner-time. I have no doubt that your cocktails are excellent but I
never seem to have acquired the habit. What do you put in them?"

"Oh! just both sorts of vermouth and gin, and a dash of something to
give it a flavour," Granet explained carelessly.

Thomson touched a small black bottle, smelt it and put it down.

"What's that?" he asked.

"A mixture of absinth and some West Indian bitters," Granet replied. 
"A chap who often goes to the States brought it back for me. Gives a
cocktail the real Yankee twang, he says."

Thomson nodded slowly.

"Rather a curious odour," he remarked. "We shall meet again, then,
Captain Granet."

They walked towards the door. Granet held it open, leaning upon his
stick.

"Many times, I trust," he observed politely.

There was a second's pause. His right hand was half extended but his
departing guest seemed not to notice the fact. He merely nodded and
put on his hat.

"It is a small world," he said, "especially, although it sounds
paradoxical, in the big places."

He passed out. Granet listened to the sound of his retreating
footsteps with a frown upon his forehead. Then he came back and stood
for a moment upon the rug in front of the fire, deep in thought. The
fox terrier played unnoticed about his feet. His face seemed suddenly
to have become older and more thoughtful. He glanced at the card
which Thomson had left upon the sideboard.

"Surgeon-Major Thomson," he repeated quietly to himself. "I wonder!"

Thomson walked slowly to the end of Sackville Street, crossed the
road and made his way to the Ritz Hotel. He addressed himself to the
head clerk of the reception counter.

"I am Surgeon-Major Thomson," he announced.

"I was lunching here to-day and attended one of the waiters who was
taken ill afterwards. I should be very glad to know if I can see him
for a few moments."

The man bowed politely.

"I remember you quite well, sir," he said. "A Belgian waiter, was it
not? He has been taken away by a lady this afternoon."

"Taken away?" Thomson repeated, puzzled.

"The lady who was giving the luncheon--Lady Anselman--called and saw
the manager about an hour ago," the man explained. "She has
interested herself very much in the matter of Belgian refugees and is
entertaining a great many of them at a house of hers near the
seaside. The man is really not fit to work, so we were very glad
indeed to pass him on to her."

"He recovered consciousness before he was removed, I suppose?"
Thomson inquired.

"I believe so, sir. He seemed very weak and ill, though. In fact he
had to be carried to the automobile."

"I suppose he didn't give any reason for his sudden attack?"

"None that I am aware of, sir."

Thomson stood for a moment deep in thought, then he turned away from
the desk.

"Thank you very much indeed," he said to the clerk. "The man's case
rather interested me. I think I shall ask Lady Anselman to allow me
to visit him. Where did you say the house was?"

"Her ladyship did not mention the exact locality," the man replied. 
"I believe, however, that it is near the Isle of Wight."

"A most suitable neighbourhood," Major Thomson murmured, as he turned
away from the hotel.



CHAPTER VII

"I wonder why you don't like Captain Granet?" Geraldine asked her
fiance, as they stood in the drawing-room waiting for dinner.

"Not like him?" Thomson repeated. "Have I really given you that
impression, Geraldine?"

The girl nodded.

"Perhaps I ought not to say that, though," she confessed. "You are
never particularly enthusiastic about people, are you?"

One of his rare smiles transfigured his face. He leaned a little
towards her.

"Not about many people, Geraldine," he whispered.

She made a charming little grimace but a moment afterwards she was
serious again.

"But really," she continued, "to me Captain Granet seems just the
type of young Englishman who is going to save the country. He is a
keen soldier, clever, modest, and a wonderful sportsman. I can't
think what there is about him for any one to dislike."

Major Thomson glanced across the room. In a way, he and the man whom
he felt instinctively was in some sense of the word his rival, even
though an undeclared one, were of exactly opposite types. Granet was
the centre of a little group of people who all seemed to be hanging
upon his conversation. He was full of high spirits and humour,
debonair, with all the obvious claims to popularity. Thomson, on the
other hand, although good-looking, even distinguished in his way, was
almost too slim and pale. His face was more the face of a scholar
than of one interested in or anxious to shine in the social side of
life. His manners and his speech were alike reserved, his air of
breeding was apparent, but he had not the natural ease or charm which
was making Granet, even in those few minutes, persona grata with
Geraldine's mother and a little circle of newly-arrived guests.

"At least I appreciate your point of view," Major Thomson admitted,
with a faint sigh.

"Don't be such a dear old stick," Geraldine laughed. "I want you to
like him because I find him so interesting. You see, as he gets to
know one a little better he doesn't seem to mind talking about the
war. You others will scarcely say a word of what you have seen or of
what is being done out there. I like to be told things by people who
have actually seen them. He happened to be ten minutes early this
evening and he gave me a most fascinating description of some
skirmishing near La Bassee."

"You must remember," Thomson told her, "that personally I do not, in
an ordinary way, see a great deal of fighting until the whole show is
over. It may be a fine enough panorama when an attack is actually
taking place, but there is nothing very inspiring in the modern
battlefield when the living have passed away from it."

Geraldine shivered for a moment.

"Really, I almost wish that you were a soldier, too," she declared. 
"Your work seems to me so horribly gruesome. Come along, you know you
are going to take me to dinner. Think of something nice to say. I
really want to be amused."

"I will make a suggestion, then," he remarked as they took their
places. "I don't know whether you will find it amusing, though. Why
shouldn't we do like so many of our friends, and get married?"

She stared at him for a moment. Then she laughed heartily.

"Hugh," she exclaimed, "I can see through you!  You've suddenly
realised that this is your chance to escape a ceremony and a
reception, and all that sort of thing. I call it a most cowardly
suggestion."

"It rather appeals to me," he persisted. "It may be," he added,
dropping his voice a little, "because you are looking particularly
charming this evening, or it may be--"

She looked at him curiously.

"Go on, please," she murmured.

"Or it may be," he repeated, "a man's desire to be absolutely sure of
the thing he wants more than anything else in the world."

There was a moment's silence. As though by some curious instinct
which they both shared, they glanced across the table to where Granet
had become the centre of a little babble of animated conversation.
Geraldine averted her eyes almost at once, and looked down at her
plate. There was a shade of uneasiness in her manner.

"You sounds very serious, Hugh," she observed.

"That is rather a failing of mine, isn't it?" he replied. "At any
rate, I am very much in earnest."

There was another brief silence, during which Geraldine was addressed
by her neighbour on the other side. Thomson, who was watching her
closely, fancied that she accepted almost eagerly the opportunity of
diversion. It was not until dinner was almost over that she abandoned
a conversion into which she had thrown herself with spirit.

"My little suggestion," Thomson reminded her, "remains unanswered."

She looked down at her plate.

"I don't think you are really in earnest," she said.

"Am I usually a farceur?" he replied. "I think that my tendencies
are rather the other way. I really mean it, Geraldine. Shall we talk
about it later on this evening?"

"If you like," she agreed simply, "but somehow I believe that I would
rather wait. Look at mother's eye, roving around the table. Give me
my gloves, please, Hugh. Don't be long."

Thomson moved his chair next to his host's Geraldine's father,
Admiral Sir Seymour Conyers, was a very garrulous old gentleman with
fixed ideas about everything, a little deaf and exceedingly fond of
conversation. He proceeded to give his prospective son-in-law a
detailed lecture concerning the mismanagement of the field hospitals
at the front, and having disposed of that subject, he opened a
broadside attack upon the Admiralty. The rest of the men showed
indications of breaking into little groups. Ralph Conyers and Granet
were sitting side by side, engrossed in conversation. More than once
Thomson glanced towards them.

"Wish I understood more about naval affairs," Granet sighed. "I'm a
perfect ass at any one's job but my own. I can't see how you can deal
with submarines at all. The beggars can stay under the water as long
as they like, they just pop up and show their heads, and if they
don't like the look of anything near, down they go again. I don't see
how you can get at them, any way."

The young sailor smiled in a somewhat superior manner.

"We've a few ideas left still which the Germans haven't mopped up,"
he declared.

"Personally," the Admiral observed, joining in the conversation, "I
consider the submarine danger the greatest to which this country has
yet been exposed. No one but a nation of pirates, of ferocious and
conscienceless huns, could have inaugurated such a campaign."

"Good for you, dad!" his son exclaimed. "They're a rotten lot of
beggars, of course, although some of them have behaved rather
decently. There's one thing," he added, sipping his port, "there
isn't a job in the world I'd sooner take on than submarine hunting."

"Every one to his taste," Granet remarked good-humouredly. "Give me
my own company at my back, my artillery well posted, my reserves in
position, the enemy not too strongly entrenched, and our dear old
Colonel's voice shouting 'At them, boys!' That's my idea of a scrap."

There was a little murmur of sympathy. Ralph Conyers, however, his
cigar in the corner of his mouth, smiled imperturbably.

"Sounds all right," he admitted, "but for sheer excitement give me a
misty morning, the bows of a forty-knot destroyer cutting the sea
into diamonds, decks cleared for action, and old Dick in oilskins on
the salute--'Enemy's submarine, sir, on the port bow, sir.'"

"And what would you do then?" Granet asked.

"See page seven Admiralty instructions this afternoon," the other
replied, smiling. "We're not taking it sitting down, I can tell you."

The Admiral rose and pushed back his chair.

"I think," he said, "if you are quite sure, all of you, that you will
take no more port, we should join the ladies."

They trooped out of the room together. Thomson kept close behind
Ralph Conyers and Captain Granet, who were talking no more of
submarines, however, but of the last ballet at the Empire. Geraldine
came towards them as they entered the drawing-room.

"Hugh," she begged, passing her arm through his, "would you mind
playing bridge? The Mulliners are going on, and mother does miss her
rubber so. And we can talk afterwards, if you like," she added.

Thomson glanced across the room to where Granet was chatting with
some other guests. Young Conyers for the moment was nowhere to be
seen.

"I'll play, with pleasure, Geraldine," he assented, "but I want to
have a word with Ralph first."

"He's at the telephone," she said. "The Admiralty rang up about
something and he is talking to them. I'll tell him, if you like, when
he comes up."

"If you'll do that," Thomson promised, "I won't keep him a minute."

The little party settled down to their game--Lady Conyers, Sir
Charles Hankins,--a celebrated lawyer,--another man and Thomson.
Geraldine, with Olive Moreton and Captain Granet, found a sofa in a
remote corner of the room and the trio were apparently talking
nonsense with great success. Presently Ralph reappeared and joined
them.

"Hugh wants to speak to you," Geraldine told him.

Ralph glanced at the little bridge-table and made a grimace.

"Hugh can wait," he declared, as he passed his arm through Olive's. 
"This is my last night on shore for heaven knows how long and I am
going to take Olive off to see my photographs of the _Scorpion._
Old Wilcock handed them to me out of his drawer this afternoon."

The two young people disappeared. Captain Granet and Geraldine
remained upon the couch, talking in low voices. Once Thomson, when he
was dummy, crossed the room and approached them. Their conversation
was suddenly suspended.

"I told Ralph," Geraldine said, looking up, "that you wanted to speak
to him, but he and Olive have gone off somewhere. By-the-bye, Hugh,"
she went on curiously, "you didn't tell me that you'd called on
Captain Granet this evening."

"Well, it wasn't a matter of vital importance, was it?" he answered,
smiling. "My call, in any case, arose from an accident."

"Major Thomson," came a voice from the other side of the room, "it is
your deal."

Thomson returned obediently to the bridge-table. The rubber was over
a few minutes later and the little party broke up. Thomson glanced
around but the room was empty.

"I think, if I may," he said, "I'll go into the morning room and have
a whisky and soda. I dare say I'll find the Admiral there."

He took his leave of the others and made his way to the bachelor
rooms at the back of the house. He looked first into the little
apartment which Geraldine claimed for her own, but found it empty. He
passed on into the smoking-room and found all four of the young
people gathered around the table. They were so absorbed that they did
not even notice his entrance. Ralph, with a sheet of paper stretched
out before him and a pencil in his hand, was apparently sketching
something. By his side was Granet. The two girls with arms
interlocked, were watching intently.

"You see," Ralph Conyers explained, drawing back for a moment to look
at the result of his labours, "this scheme, properly worked out, can
keep a channel route such as the Folkestone to Boulogne one, for
instance, perfectly safe. Those black marks are floats, and the
nets--"

"One moment, Ralph," Thomson interrupted from the background.

They all started and turned their heads. Thomson drew a step nearer
and his hand fell upon the paper. There was a queer look in his face
which Geraldine was beginning to recognise.

"Ralph, old fellow," he said, "don't think me too much of an
interfering beggar, will you? I don't think even to your dearest
friend, not to the girl you are going to marry, to me, or to your own
mother, would I finish that little drawing and description, if I were
you."

They all stared at him. Granet's face was expressionless, the girls
were bewildered, Ralph was frowning.

"Dash it all, Hugh," he expostulated, "do have a little common sense.
Here's a fellow like Granet, a keen soldier and one of the best,
doing all he can for us on land but a bit worried about our submarine
danger. Why shouldn't I try and reassure him, eh?--let him see that
we've a few little things up our sleeves?"

"That sounds all right, Ralph," Thomson agreed, "but you're departing
from a principle, and I wouldn't do it. It isn't a personal risk
you're running, or a personal secret you're sharing with others. It
may sound absurd under the present circumstances, I know, but--"

Granet laughed lightly. His arm fell upon the young sailor's
shoulder.

"Perhaps Thomson's right, Conyers," he intervened. "You keep your
old scheme at the back of your head. We'll know all about it when the
history of the war's written. There's always the thousand to one
chance, you know. I might get brain fever in a German hospital and
begin to babble. Tear it up, old fellow."

There was a moment's silence. Geraldine turned to Thomson.

"Hugh," she protested, "don't you think you're carrying principle
almost too far? It's so fearfully interesting for us when Ralph's at
sea, and we wait day by day for news from him, to understand a little
what he's doing."

"I think you're a horrid nuisance, Major Thomson," Olive grumbled. 
"We'd just reached the exciting part."

"I am sorry," Thomson said, "but I think, Ralph, you had better do
what Captain Granet suggested."

The young man shrugged his shoulders, his face was a little sulky. 
He took the plan up and tore it into pieces.

"If you weren't my prospective brother-in-law, you know, Thomson," he
exclaimed, "I should call your interference damned cheek! After all,
you know, you're only a civilian, and you can't be expected to
understand these things."

Thomson was silent for a moment. He read in the others' faces their
sympathy with the young sailor's complaint. He moved towards the
door.

"I am sorry," he said simply. "Good night, everybody!"

They all wished him good-night--nobody stirred. He walked slowing
into the front hall, waited for a moment and then accepted his coat
and hat from a servant. Lady Conyers waved to him from the staircase.

"Where's Geraldine?" she asked.

Thomson turned away.

"They are all in the smoking-room, Lady Conyers," he said. "Good
night!"



CHAPTER VIII

In a way, their meeting the next morning was fortuitous enough, yet
it had also its significance for both of them. Geraldine's greeting
was almost studiously formal.

"You are not going to scold me for my memory, are you?" Captain
Granet asked, looking down at her with a faintly humorous uplifting
of the eyebrows. "I must have exercise, you know."

"I don't even remember telling you that I came into the Park in the
mornings," Geraldine replied.

"You didn't--that is to say you didn't mention the Park
particularly," he admitted. "You told me you always took these five
dogs out for a walk directly after breakfast, and for the rest I used
my intelligence."

"I might have gone into Regent's Park or St. James' Park," she
reminded him.

"In which case," he observed, "I should have walked up and down until
I had had enough of it, and then gone away in a bad temper."

"Don't be foolish," she laughed. "I decline absolutely to believe
that you had a single thought of me when you turned in here. Do you
mind if I say that I prefer not to believe it?"

He accepted the reproof gracefully.

"Well, since we do happen to have met," he suggested, "might I walk
with you a little way? You see," he went on, "it's rather dull
hobbling along here all alone."

"Of course you may, if you like," she assented, glancing
sympathetically at his stick. "How is your leg getting on?"

"It's better--getting on finely. So far as my leg is concerned, I
believe I shall be fit to go out again within ten days. It's my arm
that bothers me a little. One of the nerves, the doctor said, must be
wrong. I can only just lift it. You've no idea," he went on, "how a
game leg and a trussed-up arm interfere with the little round of
one's daily life. I can't ride, can't play golf or billiards, and for
an unintelligent chap like me," he wound up with a sigh, "there
aren't a great many other ways of passing the time."

"Why do you call yourself unintelligent?" she protested. "You
couldn't have got through your soldiering so well if you had been."

"Oh! I know all the soldier stuff," he admitted, "know my job, that
is to say, all right, and of course I am moderately good at
languages, but that finishes me. I haven't any brains like your
friend Thomson, for instance."

"Major Thomson is very clever, I believe," she said a little coldly.

"And a little censorious, I am afraid," Granet added with a slight
grimace. "I suppose he thinks I am a garrulous sort of ass but I
really can't see why he needed to go for your brother last night just
because he was gratifying a very reasonable curiosity on my part. It
isn't as though I wasn't in the Service. The Army and the Navy are
the same thing, any way, and we are always glad to give a Navy man a
hint as to how we are getting on."

"I really couldn't quite understand Major Thomson myself," she
agreed.

"May I ask--do you mind?" he began,--"have you been engaged to him
long?"

She looked away for a moment. Her tone, when she replied, was meant
to convey some slight annoyance at the question.

"About three months."

Captain Granet kicked a pebble away from the path in front of him
with his sound foot.

"I should think he must be a very good surgeon," he remarked in a
measured tone. "Looks as though he had lots of nerve, and that sort
of thing. To tell you the truth, though, he rather frightens me. I
don't think that he has much sympathy with my type."

She became a little more indulgent and smiled faintly as she looked
at him.

"I wonder what your type is?" she asked reflectively.

"Fairly obvious, I am afraid," he confessed, with a sigh. "I love my
soldiering, of course, and I am ashamed to think how keen I have been
on games, and should be still if I had the chance. Outside that I
don't read much, I am not musical, and I am very much predisposed to
let the future look after itself. There are thousands just like me,"
he continued thoughtfully. "We don't do any particular harm in the
world but I don't suppose we do much good."

"Don't be silly," she protested. "For one thing, it is splendid to
be a capable soldier. You are just what the country wants to-day. But
apart from that I am quite sure that you have brains."

"Have I?" he murmured. "Perhaps it's the incentive I lack."

They were silent for a few moments. Then they began to talk more
lightly. They discussed dogs and horses, their mutual friends, and
their engagements for the next few days. They did not once refer to
Thomson. Presently Geraldine paused to speak to some friends. Granet
leaned upon his stick in the background and watched her. She was
wearing a plain tailor made suit and a becoming little hat, from
underneath which little wisps of golden hair had somehow detached
themselves in a fascinating disorder. There was a delicate pink
colour in her cheeks, the movements and lines of her body were all
splendidly free and graceful. As she talked to her friends her eyes
for the moment seemed to have lost their seriousness. Her youth had
reasserted itself--her youth and splendid physical health. He watched
her eagerly, and some shadow seemed to pass from his own face--the
shadow of his suffering or his pain. He, too, seemed to grow younger.
The simplest and yet the most wonderful joy in life was thrilling
him. At last she bade farewell to her friends and came smiling
towards him.

"I am so sorry to have kept you all this time!" she exclaimed. "Lady
Anne has just told me the time and I am horrified. I meant to walk
here for an hour and we have been here for two. Stop that taxi for
me, please. I cannot spare the time even to walk home."

He handed her into the cab and whistled for the dogs, who all
scrambled in after her.

"Thanks to much for looking after a helpless cripple," he said
pleasantly, as they shook hands. "You mustn't grudge the time. Doing
your duty to the country, you know."

He tactfully avoided any mention of a future meeting and was rewarded
with a little wave of her hand from the window of the cab. He himself
left the Park at the same time, strolled along Piccadilly as far as
Sackville Street and let himself into his rooms. His servant came
forward to meet him from the inner room, and took his cap and stick.

"Any telephone messages, Jarvis?"

"Nothing, sir."

Granet moved towards the easy-chair. On the way he stopped. The
door of one of the cupboards in the sideboard was half open. He
frowned.

"Haven't I told you, Jarvis, that I wish those cupboards kept
locked?" he asked a little curtly.

The man was staring towards the sideboard in some surprise.

"I am very sorry, sir," he said. "I certainly believed that I locked
it last night."

Granet opened it wide and looked inside. His first glance was
careless enough, then his expression changed. He stared incredulously
at the small array of bottles and turned swiftly around.

"Have you moved anything from here?"

"Certainly not, sir," was the prompt reply.

Granet closed the cupboard slowly. Then he walked to the window for
a moment, his hands behind his back.

"Any one been here this morning at all, Jarvis?" he inquired.

"A man for the laundry, sir, and a person to test the electric
light."

"Left alone in the room at all?"

"The electric light man was here for a few minutes, sir."

The master and servant exchanged quick glances. The latter was
looking pale and nervous.

"Is anything missing, sir?" he asked.

"Yes!" Granet replied. "Did you notice the gentleman who called last
evening--Surgeon-Major Thomson?"

"Yes, sir!"

"You haven't seen him since?  He hasn't been here?"

"No, sir!"

Granet stood, for a moment, thinking. The servant remained
motionless. The silence in the room was ominous; so, also, was the
strange look of disquietude in the two men's faces.

"Jarvis," his master said at last, "remember this. I am not finding
fault. I know you are always careful. But from tonight be more
vigilant than ever. There is a new hand in the game. He may not
suspect us yet but he will. You understand, Jarvis?"

"Perfectly, sir."

The man withdrew noiselessly. Once more Granet walked to the window.
He looked down for a few minutes at the passers-by but he saw
nothing. Grave thoughts were gathering together in his mind. He was
travelling along the road of horrors and at the further end of it a
man stood waiting. He saw himself draw nearer and nearer to the
meeting his name almost frame itself upon his lips, the name of the
man whom he had grown to hate.



CHAPTER IX

Considering the crowded state of the waiting-room and the number of
highly important people who were there for the same purpose,
Surgeon-Major Thomson seemed to have remarkably little difficulty in
procuring the interview he desired. He was conducted by a boy scout
into a room on the second floor of the War Office, within a few
minutes of his arrival. A tall, grey-haired man in the uniform of a
general looked up and nodded with an air of intimacy as soon as the
door had been closed.

"Sit down, Thomson. We've been expecting you. Any news?"

"I have come to you for that, sir," the other replied.

The General sighed.

"I am afraid you will be disappointed," he said. "I received your
report and I went to a certain official myself--saw him in his own
house before breakfast this morning. I had reports of three other men
occupying responsible positions in the city, Thomson, against whom
there was really tangible and serious evidence. Our friend had the
effrontery almost to laugh at me."

There was a little glitter in Thomson's eyes.

"These damned civilians!" he murmured softly. "They've done their
best to ruin Great Britain by crabbing every sort of national service
during the last ten years. They feed and pamper the vermin who are
eating away the foundations of the country, and, damn it all, when we
put a clear case to them, when we show them men whom we know to be
dangerous, they laugh at us and tell us that it isn't our department!
They look upon us as amateurs and speak of Scotland Yard with bated
breath. My God! If I had a free hand for ten minutes, there'd be two
Cabinet Ministers eating bread and water instead of their dinners
to-night."

The General raised his eyebrows. He knew Thomson well enough to be
aware how unusual such an ebullition of feeling on his part was.

"Got you a bit worked up, Major," he remarked.

"Isn't it enough to make any man's blood boil?" the other replied. 
"The country to-day looks to its army and its navy to save it from
the humiliation these black-coated parasites have encouraged, and yet
even now we haven't a free hand. You and I, who control the secret
service of the army, denounce certain men, upon no slight evidence,
either, as spies, and we are laughed at! One of those very blatant
idiots whose blundering is costing the country millions of money and
thousands of brave men, has still enough authority to treat our
reports as so much waste paper."

"I am bound to say I agree with you, Thomson," the General declared,
a little hopelessly. "It's the weakest spot of our whole
organisation, this depending on the civil powers. Two of my cases
were absolutely flagrant. As regards yours, Thomson, I am not at all
sure that we shouldn't be well-advised to get just a little more
evidence before we press the matter."

"And meanwhile," Thomson retorted bitterly, "leave him a free hand to
do what mischief he can. But for the merest accident in the world,
the night before last he would have learnt our new scheme for keeping
the Channel communication free from submarines."

The General frowned.

"Who's been talking?" he demanded.

"No one who is to be blamed," Thomson replied. "Can't you realise
the position? Here's a fellow Service man, a soldier, a D. S. O., who
has been specially mentioned for bravery and who very nearly got the
Victoria Cross, comes here with the halo of a brilliant escape from
the Germans, wounded, a young man of good family and connections, and
apparently as keen as mustard to get back again in the fighting line.
Good Heavens! The most careful sailor in the world might just drop a
hint to that sort of man. What nearly happened last night may happen
a dozen times within the next week. Even our great secret, General,"
Thomson continued, dropping his voice a little, "even that might come
to his ears."

The General was undoubtedly disturbed. He searched amongst the
papers on his desk and brought out at last a flimsy half-sheet of
notepaper which he studied carefully.

"Just read this, Thomson."

Thomson rose and looked over his shoulder. The letter was an
autograph one of a few lines only, and dated from a village in the
North of France--

My dear Brice,

This is a special request to you. Arrange it any way you please but
don't send me Captain Granet out again in any capacity. Keep him at
home. Mind, I am not saying word against him as a soldier. He has
done some splendid work on more than one occasion, but
notwithstanding this I do not wish to see him again with any of the
forces under my command.

                                  Ever yours,

                                            F.

"Did you show this to our friend?" Thomson inquired.

"I gave him a digest of its contents," the General replied. "He
smiled in a supercilious manner and said I had better do as I was
asked."

Thomson said nothing for a moment. His face was very set and he had
the air of a man desperately but quietly angry.

"As a matter of fact," General Brice continued, glancing at the clock
on his desk, "Granet is in my anteroom at the present moment, I
expect. He asked for an interview this afternoon."

"Have him in, if you don't mind," the other suggested. "I can sit at
the empty desk over there. I can be making some calculations with
reference to the number of hospital beds for each transport. I want
to hear him talk to you."

The General nodded and touched a bell.

"You can show Captain Granet in," he told the boy scout who answered
it.

Thomson took his place in the far corner of the room and bent over a
sheaf of papers. Presently Granet was ushered in. He was leaning a
little less heavily upon his stick and he had taken his arm from the
sling for a moment. He saluted the General respectfully and glanced
across the room towards where Thomson was at work. If he recognised
him, however, he made no sign.

"Well, Granet," the General inquired, "how are you getting on?"

"Wonderfully, sir," was the brisk reply. "I have seen my own doctor
this morning and he thinks I might come up before the Board on
Saturday."

"And what does that mean?"

"I want to get back again, sir," Granet replied eagerly.

The General stroked his grey moustache and looked searchingly at the
young officer. He was standing full in the light of a ray of sunshine
which came streaming through the high, uncurtained windows. Although
he was still a little haggard, his eyes were bright, his lips were
parted in an anticipatory smile, his whole expression was engaging.
General Brice, studying him closely, felt compelled to admit the
improbability of his vague suspicions.

"That's all very well, you know," he reminded him quietly, "but you
won't be fit enough for active service for some time to come."

The young man's face fell.

"I am sure they must be wanting me back, sir," he said naively.

The General shook his head.

"I don't want to disappoint you, young fellow," he continued, "but I
heard from your Brigadier only yesterday. He has been obliged to fill
up your place and I don't think he has room for any one on his
staff."

Granet looked a little hurt.

"I thought he might have made a temporary appointment," he said
gloomily.

"This is no time to consider individuals," the General pointed out. 
"What about finding you a billet at home for a time, eh? You've seen
a bit of the rough side of the war, you know."

"I'd sooner go out and dig trenches!"

Thomson had risen slowly from his place and, with a sheet of foolscap
in his hand, closely covered with writing, crossed the room.

"You might get taken prisoner again, Captain Granet," he remarked
drily.

There was a moment's rather tense silence. The young man's lips had
come together, his eyes flashed.

"I did not recognise you, Major Thomson," he said calmly. "Have you
found a new billet?"

"My old one is sufficiently absorbing just at present," the other
replied laying his calculations on the General's desk. "Forgive my
interrupting you, sir, but you told me to let you have this as soon
as I had finished. That is my estimate of the number of beds we could
stow away in the cubic feet you offer us."

The General glanced at the paper and nodded.

"Don't go, Thomson," he said. "I'll talk to you about this later on.
Well, Captain Granet," he added, "you'd better leave things in my
hands. I'll do the best I can for you."

"I shall be very disappointed if I don't get out to the Front again
soon, sir," the young man declared simply.

"I'll do the best I can," the General repeated, touching his bell.

Granet was shown out and the door was closed. General Brice turned
towards his companion.

"Thomson," he said, "frankly, I can't believe it. However, we'll
find him a billet where he can't possibly do any mischief."

"If you found him a billet where I should like to see him,"
Surgeon-Major Thomson observed bitterly, "he would never do any more
mischief in this world! Any dispatches from the Front, sir?"

General Brice raised his eyebrows.

"Are you off again?" he asked.

"I am going to see that young man's General," Thomson replied. "I
shall cross over to-day and be back to-morrow night or Saturday
morning."

General Brice nodded thoughtfully.

"Perhaps you are right," he assented. "Yes, I shall have a few
reports. You'd better let them know at the Admiralty, and what time
you want to go over."

Surgeon-Major Thomson shook hands with the General and turned towards
the door.

"When I come back," he said, "I hope I'll be able to convince even
you, sir."



CHAPTER X

Surgeon-Major Thomson awoke about twelve hours later with a start. 
He had been sleeping so heavily that he was at first unable to
remember his whereabouts. His mind moved sluggishly across the brief
panorama of his hurried journey--the special train from Victoria to
Folkestone; the destroyer which had brought him and a few other
soldiers across the Channel, black with darkness, at a pace which
made even the promenade deck impossible; the landing at Boulogne, a
hive of industry notwithstanding the darkness; the clanking of
waggons, the shrieking of locomotives, the jostling of crowds, the
occasional flashing of an electric torch. And then the ride in the
great automobile through the misty night. He rubbed his eyes and
looked around him. A grey morning was breaking. The car had come to a
standstill before a white gate, in front of which was stationed a
British soldier, with drawn bayonet. Surgeon-Major Thomson pulled
himself together and answered the challenge.

"A friend," he answered,--"Surgeon-Major Thomson, on his Majesty's
service."

He leaned from the car for a moment and held out something in the
hollow of his hand. The man saluted and drew back. The car went along
a rough road which led across a great stretch of pastureland. On the
ridge of the hills on his right, little groups of men were at work
unlimbering guns. Once or twice, with a queer, screeching sound, a
shell, like a little puff of white smoke, passed high over the car
and fell somewhere in the grey valley below. In the distance he could
see the movements of a body of troops through the trees, soldiers on
the way to relieve their comrades in the trenches. As the morning
broke, the trenches themselves came into view--long, zig-zag lines,
silent, and with no sign of the men who crawled about inside like
ants. He passed a great brewery transformed into a canteen, from
which a line of waggons, going and returning, were passing all the
time backwards and forwards into the valley. Every now and then
through the stillness came the sharp crack of a rifle from the
snipers lying hidden in the little stretches of woodland and
marshland away on the right. A motor-omnibus, with its advertisement
signs still displayed but a great red cross floating above it, came
rocking down the road on its way to the field hospital in the
distance. As yet, however, the business of fighting seemed scarcely
to have commenced.

They passed several small houses and farms, in front of each of which
was stationed a sentry. Once, from the hills behind, a great
white-winged aeroplane glided over his head on its way to make a
reconnaissance. Queerest sight of all, here and there were peasants
at work in the fields. One old man leaned upon his spade and watched
as the car passed. Not a dozen yards from him was a great hole in the
ground where a shell had burst, and a little further away a barn in
ruins. The car was forced to stop here to let a cavalcade of
ammunition waggons pass by. Surgeon-Major Thomson leaned from his
seat and spoke to the old man.

"You are not afraid of the German shells, then?" he asked.

"Monsieur," the old man answered, "one must live or die--it does not
matter which. For the rest, if one is to live, one must eat.
Therefore I work. Four sons I have and a nephew away yonder," he
added, waving his hand southwards. "That is why I dig alone. Why do
you not send us more soldiers, Monsieur l'Anglais?"

"Wait but a little time longer," Thomson answered cheerfully.

The old man looked sadly at his ruined barn.

"It is always 'wait,'" he muttered, "and one grows old and tired. 
Bonjour, monsieur!"

The car passed on again and suddenly dropped into a little protected
valley. They came to a standstill before a tiny chateau, in front of
which stretched what might once have been an ornamental garden, but
which was now torn to pieces by gun carriages, convoy waggons, and
every description of vehicle. From the top of the house stretched
many wires. A sentry stood at the iron gates and passed Major Thomson
after a perfunctory challenge. An office with mud-stained boots and
wind-tossed hair, who looked as though he had been out all night,
stood on the steps of the house and welcomed Thomson.

"Hullo, Major," he called out, "just across, eh?"

"This moment," Thomson assented. "Anything fresh?"

"Nothing to speak of," the other replied. "We've just had a message
in that the French have been giving them a knock. We've had a quiet
time the last two days. They're bringing up some more Bavarians, we
think."

"Do you think I could have a few words with the General?" Major
Thomson asked.

"Come in and have some coffee. Yes, he'll see you, of course. He is
in his own room with two of the flying men, just for the moment. I'll
let you know when you can go in."

They passed into an apartment which had once been the dining-room of
the chateau, and in which a long table was laid. One or two staff
officers greeted Thomson, and the man who had brought him in attended
to his wants.

"The General had his breakfast an hour ago," the latter observed. 
"We're pretty well forward here and we have to keep on the qui vive.
We got some shells yesterday dropped within a quarter of a mile of
us. I think we're going to try and give them a push back on the left
flank. I'll go in and see about you, Thomson."

"Good fellow!  You might tell them to give my chauffeur something. 
The destroyer that brought me over is waiting at Boulogne, and I want
to be in London to-night."

One of the officers from the other side of the table, smiled queerly.

"London!  My God!" he muttered. "There is still a London, I suppose?
Savoy and Carlton going still? Pall Mall where it was?"

"And very much as it was," Thomson assured him. "London's
wonderfully unchanged. You been out long?"

"September the second," was the cheerful reply. "I keep on getting
promised a week but I can't bring it off."

"He's such a nut with the telephones," the man by his side explained,
helping himself to marmalade. "The General positively can't spare
him."

"Oh, chuck it!" the other exclaimed in disgust. "What about
you?--the only man with an eye to a Heaven-ordained gun position, as
old Wattles declared one day. We're all living wonders, Major," he
went on, turning to Thomson, "but if I don't get a Sole Colbert and a
grill at the Savoy, and a front seat at the Alhambra, before many
weeks have passed, I shall get stale--that's what'll happen to me."

"Hope you'll have your hair cut before you go back," a man from the
other end of the table remarked. "Your own mother wouldn't know you
like that--much less your sweetheart."

The young man fingered his locks reflectively.

"Chap who was going to cut it for me got shot yesterday," he
grumbled. "Anything doing as you came over the ridge, Major?"

Thomson shook his head.

"One aeroplane and a few shells."

"That would be Johnny Oates going out in his Bleriot," some one
remarked. "He'll be back here before long with a report."

The officer who had met Thomson in the garden, re-entered the room.

"General says he'll see you at once," he announced.

Thomson followed his guide into a small back room. An officer was
seated before a desk, writing, another was shouting down a telephone,
and a third was making some measurements upon a large Ordnance map
nailed upon one of the walls. The General was standing with his back
to the fire and a pipe in his mouth. He nodded cheerily to Thomson.

"When did you leave London?" he asked.

"Nine o'clock last evening, sir," Thomson replied. "Rather a record
trip. We had a special down and a destroyer over."

"And I'm going to tell you what you want to know," the General
continued glancing at a document in his hand. "Well, close the door,
Harewood. Out with it?"

"It's about Captain Granet of Harrison's staff," Thomson began.

The General frowned and knocked the ashes from his pipe.

"Well," he asked, "what is it?"

"We've reasons of our own for wishing to know exactly what you meant
by asking the War Office not to send him back again," Thomson
continued.

The General hesitated.

"Well, what are they?"

"They are a little intangible, sir," Thomson confessed, "but
exceedingly important. Without any direct evidence, I have come to
the conclusion that Captain Granet is a mysterious person and needs
watching. As usual, we are in trouble with the civil authorities,
and, to be frank with you, I am trying to strengthen my case."

The General shrugged his shoulders.

"Very well," he decided, "under the circumstances you have the right
to know what my message meant. We sent Granet back because of a
suspicion which may be altogether unjustifiable. The suspicion was
there, however, and it was sufficiently strong for me to make up my
mind that I should prefer not to have him back again. Now you shall
know the facts very briefly. Granet was taken prisoner twice. No one
saw him taken--as a matter of fact, both of the affairs were night
attacks. He seemed suddenly to disappear--got too far ahead of his
men, was his explanation. All I can say is that he was luckier than
most of them. Anything wandering about loose in a British
uniform--but there, I won't go on with that. He came back each time
with information as to what he had seen. Each time we planned an
attack on the strength of that information. Each time that
information proved to be misleading and our attack failed, costing us
heavy losses. Of course, dispositions might have been changed since
his observations were made, but there the fact remains. Further," the
General continued, filling his pipe slowly and pressing in the
tobacco, "on the second occasion we had four hundred men thrown
forward into the village of Ossray. They were moved in the pitch
darkness, and silently. It was impossible for any word of their
presence in Ossray to have been known to the Germans. Yet the night
of Granet's capture the village was shelled, and those who escaped
were cut off and made prisoners. Follow me, Major?"

"Yes, sir!" Thomson acquiesced.

"Those are just the facts," the General concluded. "Now on the other
hand, Granet has handled his men well, shown great personal bravery,
and has all the appearance of a keen soldier. I hate to do him a
wrong even in my thoughts but there were others besides myself to
whom these coincidences seemed amazing. We simply decided that they'd
better give Granet a billet at home. That's the reason of my
message."

"I am very much obliged to you, sir," Thomson said slowly. "You have
given me exactly the information which we desire."

The General was called away for a moment to give some instructions to
the young officer who was sitting in a distant corner of the room
with a telephone band around his head. He signed to Thomson, however,
to remain.

"Now that I have gratified your curiosity," he said, when he
returned, "perhaps you will gratify mine? Will you tell me just how
you over in England have come to have suspicions of this man?"

"That," Thomson explained, "is almost a personal matter with me. 
Three months ago I spent the night with the Third Army Corps up by
Niemen. I was there on other business, as you may imagine, but there
was some hot fighting and I went out to help. I was attending to some
of our fellows and got very near to the German lines. I became
separated from the others a little and was groping about when I heard
voices talking German within a few feet of me. I couldn't hear what
they said but I could just distinguish two figures. One of them made
off towards the German lines. The other, after standing still for a
moment, came in my direction. I took out my revolver, and to tell you
the truth I very nearly fired on sight, for it would have been an
exceedingly awkward matter for me to have been taken prisoner just
then. Just as my finger was on the trigger, I became conscious that
the man who was approaching was humming 'Tipperary.' I flashed my
light on his face and saw at once that he was a British officer. He
addressed me quickly in German. I answered him in English. I fancied
for a moment that he seemed annoyed. 'We'd better get out of this,'
he whispered. 'We're within a hundred yards of the German trenches
and they are bringing searchlights up.' 'Who were you talking to just
now?' I asked, as we stole along. 'No one at all,' he answered. I
didn't take the thing seriously for the moment, although it seemed to
me queer. Afterwards I regretted, however, that I hadn't set myself
to discover the meaning of what was apparently a deliberate lie. The
next time I met Granet was at a luncheon party at the Ritz, a few
days ago. I recognised his face at once, although I had only seen it
by the flash of my electric lamp. From that moment I have had my
suspicions."

The General nodded. He was looking a little grave.

"It's a hateful thing to believe," he said, "that any one wearing his
Majesty's uniform could ever play such a dastardly part. However, on
the whole I am rather glad that I passed in that request to the War
Office. Anything more we can do for you, Major?"

Thomson took the hint and departed. A few minutes later he was in
his car and on his way back to Boulogne.



CHAPTER XI

Olive Moreton gave a little start as the long, grey, racing car came
noiselessly to a standstill by the side of the kerbstone. Captain
Granet raised his hat and leaned from the driving seat towards her.

"Hope I didn't frighten you, Miss Moreton?"

"Not at all," she replied. "What a perfectly lovely car!"

He assented eagerly.

"Isn't she!  My uncle's present to me to pass away the time until I
can do some more soldiering. They only brought it round to me early
this morning. Can I take you anywhere?"

"I was just going to see Geraldine Conyers," she began.

"Do you know, I guessed that," he remarked, leaning on one side and
opening the door. "Do let me take you. I haven't had a passenger
yet."

She stepped in at once.

"As a matter of fact," she told him, "I was looking for a taxicab. I
have had a telegram from Ralph. He wants us to go down to Portsmouth
by the first train we can catch this morning. He says that if we can
get down there in time to have lunch at two o'clock, he can show us
over the _Scorpion._ After to-day she will be closed to visitors,
even his own relations. I was just going to see if Geraldine could
come."

Granet was thoughtful for a moment. He glanced at the little clock
on the dashboard opposite to him.

"I tell you what," he suggested, "why not let me motor you and Miss
Conyers down? I don't believe there's another fast train before one
o'clock, and we'd get down in a couple of hours, easily. It's just
what I'm longing for, a good stretch into the country."

"I should love it," the girl exclaimed, "and I should think Geraldine
would. Will you wait while I run in and see her?"

"Of course," Granet replied. "Here we are, and there's Miss Conyers
at the window. You go in and talk her over and I'll just see that
we've got lots of petrol. I'll have you down there within two hours,
all right, if we can get away before the roads are crowded."

She hurried into the house. Geraldine met her on the threshold and
they talked together for a few moments. Then Olive reappeared, her
face beaming.

"Geraldine would simply love it," she announced. "She will be here
in five minutes. Could we just stop at my house for a motor-coat?"

"Certainly!" Granet agreed, glancing at his watch. "This is
absolutely ripping! We shall be down there by one o'clock. Why is
this to be Conyers' last day for entertaining?"

"I don't know," she answered indifferently. "Some Admiralty
regulation, I suppose."

He sighed.

"After all," he declared, "I am not sure whether I chose the right
profession. There is so much that is mysterious about the Navy. They
are always inventing something or trying something new."

Geraldine came down the steps, waving her hand.

"This is the most delightful idea!" she exclaimed, as Granet held the
door open. "Do you really mean that you are going to take us down to
Portsmouth and come and see Ralph?"

"I am not going to worry your brother," he answered, smiling, "but I
am going to take you down to Portsmouth, if I may. We shall be there
long before you could get there by train, and--well, what do you
think of my new toy?"

"Simply wonderful," Geraldine declared. "Olive told me that your
uncle had just given it you. What a lucky person you are, Captain
Granet!"

He laughed a little shortly as they glided off.

"Do you think so?" he answered. "Well, I am lucky in my uncle, at
any rate. He is one of those few people who have a great deal of
money and don't mind spending it. I was getting bored to death with
my game leg and arm, and certainly this makes one forget both of
them. Six cylinders, you see, Miss Conyers, and I wouldn't like to
tell you what we can touch if we were pressed."

"You won't frighten us," Geraldine assured him.

Granet glanced once more at the clock in front of him.

"For a time," he remarked, "I am your chauffeur. I just want to see
what she'll do--to experiment a little."

From that point conversation became scanty. The girls leaned back in
their seats. Granet sat bolt upright, with his eyes fixed upon the
road. Shortly before one o'clock they entered Portsmouth.

"The most wonderful ride I ever had in my life!" Geraldine exclaimed.

"Marvelous!" Olive echoed. "Captain Granet, Ralph promised that
there should be a pinnace at number seven dock from one until three."

Granet pointed with his finger.

"Number seven dock is there," he said, "and there's the pinnace. I
shall go back to the hotel for lunch and wait for you there."

"You will do nothing of the sort," Geraldine insisted. "Ralph would
be furious if you didn't come with us."

"Of course!" Olive interposed. "How could you think of anything so
ridiculous! It's entirely owing to you that we were able to get
here."

Captain Granet looked for a moment doubtful.

"You see, just now," he explained, "I know the regulations for
visiting ships in commission are very strict. Perhaps an extra
visitor might embarrass your brother."

"How can you be so absurd!" Geraldine protested. "You--a soldier! 
Why, of course he'd be delighted to have you."

Granet swung the car around into the archway of a hotel exactly
opposite the dock.

"All right," he agreed. "We'll leave the car here. Of course, I'd
like to come all right."

They crossed the cobbled street and made their way to the dock. The
pinnace was waiting for them and in a very few minutes they were on
their way across the harbour. The _Scorpion_ was lying well away from
other craft, her four squat funnels emitting faint wreaths of smoke.
She rode very low in the water and her appearance was certainly
menacing.

"Personally," Geraldine observed, leaning a little forward to look at
her, "I think a destroyer is one of the most vicious, the most
hideous things I ever saw. I do hope that Ralph will be quick and get
a cruiser."

"Is that the _Scorpion_ just ahead of us?" Granet asked.

Geraldine nodded.

"Did you ever see anything so ugly?  She looks as though she would
spit out death from every little crevice."

"She's a fine boat," Granet muttered. "What did your brother say she
could do?"

"Thirty-nine knots," Geraldine replied. "It seems wonderful, doesn't
it?"

The officer in charge of the pinnace smiled.

"Our speeds are only nominal, any way," he remarked. "If our chief
engineer there had the proper message, there's none of us would like
to say what he could get out of those new engines."

He turned and shouted an order. In a moment or two they swung around
and drew up by the side of the vessel. Ralph waved his hand to them
from the top of the gangway.

"Well done, you people!" he exclaimed. "Hullo Granet!  Have you
brought the girls down?"

"In the most wonderful racing car you ever saw!" Geraldine told him,
as they climbed up the gangway. "We shouldn't have been here for
hours if we had waited for the train."

"I met Captain Granet this morning by accident," Olive explained, as
she stepped on deck, "and he insisted on bringing us down."

"I hope I'm not in the way at all?" Granet asked anxiously. "If I
am, you have only to say the word and put me on shore, and I'll wait,
with pleasure, until the young ladies come off. I have a lot of pals
down here, too, I could look up."

"Don't be silly," Conyers replied. "Our dear old lady friend Thomson
isn't here to worry so I think we can make you free of the ship. Come
along down and try a cocktail. Mind your heads. We're not on a
battleship, you know. You will find my quarters a little cramped, I'm
afraid."

They drank cocktails cheerfully, and afterwards Geraldine exclaimed,
taking a long breath. "If Olive weren't so fearfully in love, she'd
be suffocated."

Granet paused and looked before him with a puzzled frown.

"What in heaven's name is this?"

Exactly opposite to them was an erection of light framework,
obviously built around some hidden object for purposes of
concealment. A Marine was standing on guard before it, with drawn
cutlass. Granet was in the act of addressing him when an officer ran
lightly down the fore part of the ship, and saluted.

"Very sorry, sir," he said, "but would you mind keeping to the other
side? This deck is closed, for the present."

"What on earth have you got there?" Granet asked
good-humouredly,--"that is if it's anything a landsman may know
about?"

The young officer piloted them across to the other side.

"It's just a little something we are not permitted to talk about just
now," he replied. "I didn't know the commander expected any visitors
to-day or we should have had it roped off. Anything I can show you on
this deck?" he inquired politely.

"Nothing at all, thanks," Geraldine assured him. "We'll just stroll
about for a little time."

They leaned over the rail together. The young officer saluted and
withdrew. A freshening breeze blew in their faces and the sunshine
danced upon the foam-flecked sea. The harbour was lively with small
craft, an aeroplane was circling overhead, and out in the Roads
several warships were lying anchored.

"I was in luck this morning," Granet asserted.

"So were we," Geraldine replied. "I never enjoyed motoring more. 
Your new car is wonderful."

"She is a beauty, isn't she?" Granet assented enthusiastically. 
"What she could touch upon fourth speed I wouldn't dare to say. We
were going over sixty plenty of times this morning, and yet one
scarcely noticed it. You see, she's so beautifully hung."

"You are fortunate," she remarked, "to have an appreciative uncle."

"He is rather a brick," Granet acknowledged. "He's done me awfully
well all my life."

She nodded.

"You really are rather to be envied, aren't you, Captain Granet?  You
have most of the things a man wants. You've had your opportunity, too
of doing just the finest things a man can, and you've done them."

He looked gloomily out seawards.

"I am lucky in one way," he admitted. "In others I am not so sure."

She kept her head turned from him. Somehow or other, she divined
quite well what was in his mind. She tried to think of something to
say, something to dispel the seriousness which she felt to be in the
atmosphere, but words failed her. It was he who broke the silence.

"May I ask you a question, Miss Conyers?"

"A question?  Why not?"

"Are you really engaged to Major Thomson?"

She did not answer him at once. She still kept her eyes resolutely
turned away from his. When at last she spoke, her voice was scarcely
raised above a whisper.

"Certainly I am," she assented.

He leaned a little closer towards her. His voice sounded to her very
deep and firm. It was the voice of a man immensely in earnest.

"I am going to be an awful rotter," he said. "I suppose I ought to
take your answer to my question as final. I won't that's all. He came
along first but that isn't everything. It's a fair fight between him
and me. He hates me and takes no pains to hide it. He hates me
because I care for you--you know that. I couldn't keep it to myself
even if I would."

She drew a little away but he forced her to look at him. There was
something else besides appeal in her eyes.

"You've been the victim of a mistake," he insisted, his hand resting
upon hers. "I don't believe that you really care for him at all. He
doesn't seem the right sort for you, he's so much older and graver.
You mustn't be angry. You must forgive me, please, if I have said
more than I ought--if I say more now--because