The dangerous game
“Morning!” Darville exclaimed tersely. He was unshaven after his rapid
journey to Scotland and back, and had had no breakfast. “Is Austin
back from Madrid?”
“Yes, sir. He arrived this morning by the Sud Express. He’s left his
report and gone home.”
“I want him here at eleven. He’s had two nights in the train. He won’t
want sleep,” Darville said. “I want Cator and Bellamy here also,
and--and Craig of the S.B. Call them all very secretly, and also get
me Paris on the telephone,” Darville said in that quick, impetuous way
of his.
“Very well, sir,” replied the chief of the night staff. “But there is
a lady who is anxious to get in touch with you.”
“Who is it?”
“Your servant rang up at eleven, sir, last night, and said that when
he got into touch with you I was to tell you that a Miss Temperley
wished to speak to you very urgently.”
“Oh!” snapped Darville, his brows contracting. “Thanks. But I’m very
busy”; and then, with a sigh, he added under his breath: “These damned
women never leave me alone--never!”
“Is Ayrton home?” asked Darville sharply, for at the office his manner
was quick and brusque.
“No. He’s still in Athens. We had a report from him yesterday.”
Darville grunted.
“Time he came back. Recall him. I have something for him to do,” he
said, and in the next breath he said: “The King’s Messenger from Cairo
is bringing us more dispatches. Has he arrived?”
“He was here late last night. The Marseilles-Paris train had a
breakdown, he says.”
“Then bring me the reports here. I want to see them if they are
decoded.”
“They are just finished,” Howard replied. “I’ll go and get them.”
A few moments later the night secretary placed before Darville a
rather voluminous document of some dozen pages of close typewriting,
which Darville commenced to study, while Howard went to the telephone
to execute his instructions.
Ten minutes later, while he was absorbed in the further intricacies of
a very serious German intrigue in Cairo, the night secretary put his
head into his room and interrupted him by saying:
“You are on to Paris, sir.”
Darville took up the instrument and listened. There was a low,
continuous hum, like the droning of a bumble-bee. It was intentional,
in order that no eavesdropper could listen to secret conversations.
Suddenly he heard a familiar voice ask:
“Are you there, Darville?”
“Yes, my dear Armand, I’m here,” was the quick reply. “I’m back from
Corfu, you see. Very busy. I want you over here very urgently. It’s
now half-past eight. Can you leave Paris at ten, and be at Victoria at
5.15?”
“Is it so urgent?”
“Yes, my dear Armand,” he said, addressing his chief assistant, who
lived permanently in a pretty flat at Auteuil. “I want you to take
charge of a very delicate inquiry.”
“All right! I’ll be at the office just before six. _Au revoir_,” was
the cheery response, and Darville hung up the receiver and resumed
reading the secret report of German trickery in Egypt, which would in
due course be placed before the Cabinet.
A little later Howard announced that Teddy Austin and both Cator and
Bellamy--all of them the most trusted secret agents who happened to be
at home at the moment--and also Superintendent Craig, of the Special
Branch of Scotland Yard, would be there for the consultation at eleven
o’clock.
“Good!” remarked Darville, his strong face fixed upon the document
before him.
“Is there anything else?” asked Howard. “I’m going off duty.”
“No. Good-morning,” said Darville, without looking up.
A few moments later his secretary Bennett, the dapper ex-naval
officer, entered and greeted him.
“They have told me of the conference at eleven, sir,” he said.
“Something astir, I suppose?”
“Yes--and serious this time,” said his chief. “Mr. Godal is coming
over from Paris to-day to take charge of it. I want a rest, and I may
be going away again.”
It was nothing new. Seton Darville was usually away, but daily,
wherever he might be, he kept his fingers upon the pulse of that
clearing-house of the secrets of the Powers.
He rose, and, declaring that he would return at eleven, went out and
took a taxi round to his rooms in Duke Street, where his quiet,
gray-faced man-servant, Drew, greeted him.
“You haven’t breakfasted, I suppose, sir?” was the man’s first
question, to which he replied in the negative, and Drew busied himself
at once to get him some.
“Oh, sir, there’s been a lady named Temperley ringing you up. She rang
twice yesterday, and she rang again an hour ago. She’s at the Berkeley
Hotel, sir.”
“All right, Drew,” his master almost snapped, and then, throwing off
his coat, he went to the telephone.
“Hulloa, my dear Miss Temperley!” he exclaimed merrily, when he heard
the voice of the gay winter-sports girl who had so greatly attracted
him the previous winter. “So you are in town, eh? I’m only just back
from abroad--the Adriatic this time. I’ve been awfully busy. Do pardon
me not writing to you.”
“Oh, yes!” laughed the girl. “I know how busy you always are. But I
wondered if you’ve had my letters.”
“Yes, I had them all right.”
“Mother came to town earlier than she expected, so I thought I’d let
you know,” she replied in a rather wistful voice. “Are you coming to
see me?” she asked.
“Certainly. I want to see you, of course. But to-day it’s quite
impossible. I’ve been on a flying visit to Edinburgh--got back at
half-past seven this morning--and I’m leaving London again for
Scotland this evening.”
“Oh, how unfortunate,” said the girl, in a tone of deep
disappointment. “I want to see you about going to Wengen. Mother is
only here for three days, and then we go back home again.”
“Ah!” he exclaimed regretfully. “Then I’m not sure if we can meet. My
movements for the next few days will be very uncertain.”
“Oh, do see me, Mr. Darville,” she implored. “Will you run down to us
at home? Both father and mother want you to come to us again. It is so
many months since you did so. Do spare a day or two! Come and see how
my great Dane has grown. Now do come, won’t you? Just come when you
like, but as soon as you can. I’m so sorry we can’t meet here in
London.”
“So am I, Edris,” replied the novelist. “But, as a matter of fact, I’m
very worried, and I shall be busy for the next few days.”
“But are you going to Switzerland?”
Seton Darville hesitated. Varied reflections shot through his mind. “I
don’t know,” was his reply. “I can’t promise yet. We will talk it all
over when I come down.”
“Oh, you must come,” she cried. “I can’t hear any excuses. The Palace
won’t be the same without you. The Armstrongs, the Yates, the
Sheldons, and all our usual crowd, are counting upon you. Besides, the
dances won’t be the same if you are not there to superintend.”
“So you really want me to go, eh?” he asked tantalizingly.
“Of course I do.”
“And are you going to tear yourself away from Lionel for a whole
month?” he asked seriously.
“Of course I am.”
“Won’t he be very sad?” he asked with a laugh.
“There are some things I can’t well discuss over the ’phone, and that
is one of them,” she replied reprovingly. “It is about Lionel that I
want to consult you. That is mainly why I am so eager to see you.
Can’t you possibly see me this afternoon--even for ten minutes? I’ll
come anywhere to meet you,” she urged, in frantic eagerness.
Darville reflected for a few moments. He knew that his engagements at
the office would keep him till afternoon.
“Well, what about five o’clock?” he asked.
“Yes, where?”
“Here--come to tea at my rooms. We can talk alone here.”
CHAPTER X.
THE GIRL OF THE SNOWS
Ten minutes later Darville’s telephone bell rang again, whereupon he
held a brief conversation with somebody who told him something which
caused him both surprise and alarm. Two other urgent calls came
through in quick succession, whereupon he sat down and wrote a hasty
note:
“Dear Edris,--I am so very sorry, but it will be impossible for me
to keep our appointment this afternoon, as I have to be out of London
again. I shall be at my flat at Hove over the week-end. Can you induce
your mother to allow you to come and see me there, instead of going
back home? I want so very much to see you--so do come. Drew, my man,
will take any message if I am not here. Do forgive me for canceling
the appointment, but I’m horribly busy.
“Yours as ever,
“Seton Darville.”
He addressed it to her at the Berkeley Hotel, and then sent Drew round
with it into Piccadilly immediately.
At eleven he presided over a secret conference held in his private
room at the office. All four men who sat with him were smartly
dressed, alert, shrewd cosmopolitans, who spent their adventurous
lives traveling in the interests of the defense of Britain against the
machinations of her enemies.
In a few terse, well-chosen words Darville explained why they were in
conference, and then he unfolded an enemy intrigue which held all of
them amazed at his astuteness and foresight. He had established facts
of which the world had never dreamed. His intuition was as astounding
as it was uncanny, and his bold entry into that house in Edinburgh was
yet another illustration of that utter fearlessness which all his
staff so admired. When anything unusually dangerous was to be
undertaken, Seton Darville, in order to set an example, never failed
to do it himself in his easy-going, debonair way, just as though he
had no care in all the world.
The Englishmen who “do things” never talk about them. Darville never
did. Only three or four of his most intimate friends in all the world
knew the truth concerning his exact position--that of one of the most
powerful and influential men in the whole kingdom. In certain
directions his power equaled that of the Prime Minister, while his
scribbly signature, often only half legible, controlled the
expenditure of huge sums of the public money.
To the men around that table he gave certain instructions, very
precise and exactly to the point.
“Remember,” he said, “Caborn will be easily alarmed. He’s a very
clever scoundrel; one of Steinhauer’s best men. He knows England well,
and has lived in London some years before the war, and, indeed, became
naturalized as a British subject. His wife Joan is a German-American,
born in St. Louis, but she has no American accent. She came to London
when she was twelve years old. Both are in the pay of our enemies, and
both are utterly unscrupulous and dangerous. They are well supplied
with expert assistance, and also with money. But, gentlemen,” he
added, “I warn you to be careful of your own selves, if you value your
lives. One false step and you will all be launched into eternity. I’ve
myself made the investigations, and now I have placed you in
possession of the true facts.”
The men exchanged glances in silence. The seriousness of the situation
had been impressed upon them.
The instructions their chief had given them showed the extreme gravity
of the affair.
He explained how he had entered the house in Strathnairn Road, of what
he had discovered there, and how he had gummed those little discs of
paper upon the electrical terminals.
“You see, at the critical moment the contacts will not be made,” he
said. “And by that your lives will probably be saved. You will find a
motor boat at your disposal at Macdonald’s boat-house at South
Queensferry. No questions will be asked. If they are, then refuse to
say a word. Gentlemen,” he added further, “I leave you to act. The
Caborns know me personally, therefore it is best that I should fade
out of this affair. You will all leave by the Scotch express to-night,
and be in Edinburgh soon after seven to-morrow morning. Make your