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The Kingdom of the Blind by E. Phillips Oppenheim

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The Kingdom of the Blind
by E. Phillips Oppenheim


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

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

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 ad 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

"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

"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

"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

"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

She shook her head.

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

"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."


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

"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

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

He turned and looked at her.


"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

"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

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

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

"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,

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."


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

"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

"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--


"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 fore. Still, before the
girls it didn't seem to matter very much. There are no spies, anyhow, hiding
in the tress 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'nt let you go unless
you tell me what it's about."

"I have to inspect a new pattern of camp beadstead," 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

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. You 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."


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

"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," Thsomson 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

"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

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."


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

"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

"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 this die 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

"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.


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

"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

"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

"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

"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

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

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

"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.


"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,

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

"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 fro 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

"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, Gerald. 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

"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

"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

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

"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

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

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!"


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

"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

"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

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.


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 o 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. Tow 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

"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 Grent 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,


"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

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.

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